


Shattered Lives

by Fantismal



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda and Zlatko do not get a redemption arc, Brainwashing, Cole is RK900, Connor and Cole are Hank's sons, Connor and Markus are teenagers for most of this story, Cyberpunk AU, Extreme abuse of children in the process of training them into RK killing machines, Gore, Lots of people get shot through the eyeball, M/M, Non-consensual extreme body modification of children, Trained killer children, all-human AU, and are accordingly horny af, coerced killing, continued into adulthood, lies and manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-01 19:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantismal/pseuds/Fantismal
Summary: Detroit was a city at war.No, that wasn't true. Detroit was a city that had lost its war.In a city overrun with homelessness, unemployment, and red ice, Hank Anderson tries to be a force of good on the DPD...until the organized crime circle known as the Company kidnaps his twin sons to get revenge on him for a record-breaking drug bust.Ten years later, an assassin and an artist have a chance encounter that will change all of their lives, but will it be enough?





	1. RK200: 6

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you on the New ERA server, this story probably isn't new, but now it's all cleaned up and here for easy reading!
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone! Let's hope 2019 is a good year!

“Are you going to be good?”

He stood in the middle of the room, soaking wet and shivering. His arms were tucked around his bare chest. There was a red flickering on the wall to his right from the LED implanted in his temple.

“RK200.” The woman was circling around him slowly, smacking a folded up strap of leather against her hand.

He let his jaw jut out. The strap whistled through the air and sliced against his exposed shoulders. He yelped and hugged himself tighter, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You have so much _potential_. And you're wasting it! Do you think I like this? Do you think I _like_ having to punish you?”

“It hurts!”

“I know.” Her voice was soft and sweet, a motherly coo. “I know, darling, and that's why I want you to be _good_ , so I don't have to hurt you…”

He shook his head, hunching his shoulders forward. “What you want me to do! It hurts them! I don't wanna hurt them!”

“What you _want_ is immaterial. You were given your orders.”

“But it's bad! Hurting people is bad! I wanna be good, but you say I have to be bad to be good and that's bad!”

The whip struck out again, three stinging blows to his back. He rocked forward with a sob, biting his already-abused lips.

“It would seem we still have more work to do.” She was disappointed. He'd disappointed her. Mother. Amanda. “You won't complete your missions. Too much of a bleeding heart.” He shifted his arms higher. Was she going to whip his heart to make it bleed? “Will you at least protect the house? Can I trust you to do _that_ much? Or will you fail there too?”

“I…” He swallowed and shook his head. “I'll be good and protect the house. I can do that. I _can_.” Protecting the house just meant sitting out in the yard with a gun at hand. He was also supposed to kill anyone who came in without permission, but nobody ever did.

“You are sorely trying my patience, RK200.” Amanda stepped forward, tucking her whip beneath his chin and forcing his head up. “Fail me one more time and I'll have you decommissioned. Is that clear?”

Decommissioned. That meant dead. That meant being target practice for the other RKs, the ones who didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. He gulped and nodded.

She sighed, stepping back and wiping her hands together, even though she hadn't touched him. He was _that_ dirty. “Finish cleaning him up,” she said, addressing one of the silent watchers. “I'll find the time to work with him later.”

The silent man nodded and picked up the bucket of soapy water at his feet. The boy flinched as it was dumped unceremoniously over his head and the scrubbing began.

When he was clean, he was rubbed dry with a scratchy towel and had a worn out school uniform thrust in his arms. He dressed quickly, grateful for the small protection of clothes, and tugged the knit hat down around his ears to hide the LED. The implant didn't look all that different from the LED tattoos that were all the rage these days...on the surface. Beneath his skin, the implant drilled into his skull and brain, enhancing his body and senses, allowing him to react faster, stronger, harder to various stimuli. It was the first step the Company had done to turn him into RK200. His predecessor, RK100, hadn't survived the brain implant. After he did, the Company began augmenting his limbs. That was what they called it, at least.

They cut off his legs.

He didn't remember what it was like to have human legs. His first memory was two years ago, lying on a stainless steel surgical table and screaming as the knives slipped beneath his skin, carefully removing muscle and bone and replacing it with steel and thirium. He was strapped down and drugged so he couldn't move, but he could still feel everything.

He already had the brain implant at that point. He didn't remember getting it. Didn't remember that screaming.

He had been with the Company his entire life. He was their youngest RK at the age of six, and their longest surviving with at least two successful years. He was the only one they didn't ply with red ice. That was an expensive way to keep a killer. He was supposed to be their pure one, their clean one, their example, their model.

He was failing. He wasn't killing. He cried whenever he hurt someone. He could hit a perfect bullseye with a sniper rifle bigger than he was at five hundred yards, but only if it was a scrap of paper or a piece of fruit. He didn't even like shooting at the sides of an animal that was clearly already dead. It was too close.

He huddled in the corner by the gate, pretending to be asleep under a tree. He saw when the police broke through. He saw their guns and their badges. He saw the other RKs rise up and start firing.

He saw a way out.

The police lobbed a smoke grenade. He preconstructed an escape route and waited until the smoke was thick enough, then he took off. He could run, run, _jump_ over that man, land on this shield and push off, tuck and roll through the opening in the wall, and go go _go!_

He was millions of dollars of equipment. He was two years of research and experiments. He was _free_.

He was lost.

“Kid! _Kid!_ ”

An old man in a wheelchair was shouting as he slowed his run. He was miles away from the Company. He had no idea where he was. He looked around. There was a car rushing toward him. An autocab. It was going to…!

The wheelchair man slammed into him. The force of the impact knocked them both to the ground at the side of the road. The car whizzed past, smashing the wheelchair.

“Kid!”

The man had been shouting at _him_. He looked like a kid. He hadn't realized it.

“Are you okay, son?” The old man pushed himself up with his arms. His legs were flopped uselessly to the side.

“I...I'm sorry!” He scrambled to his feet, then reached down to help the old man sit up. He arranged his legs too, so they were straight and not twisted up. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention and I almost got you killed, and your _chair_!” He'd been free from the Company for all of twenty minutes and he'd already screwed everything up. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I just…”

“Hey, hey, relax little man. I'm not hurt. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, twisting his fingers together and sneaking looks at this old man. Nobody had ever talked to him like this before. Nobody had ever asked if he was hurt.

“Chairs can be replaced. People can't. Thank you for helping me up.”

“Thank you for pushing me out of the way.” He tucked his fingers against his mouth, suddenly bashful.

“I'm Carl.”

“My designation is RK…” He trailed off at the look on Carl's face. Designation. Right. Real people had names, like Amanda. Carl. He didn't have a name. He had an experiment number. He ducked his head.

Carl caught his shirt and tugged him closer. He peeled back the edge of the cap and revealed just the edge of the LED. “You run away from the Company, son?”

“Please don't send me back,” he whispered. He'd run, but Carl was still holding his shirt, and he didn't want to hurt the old man any further. “They'll say I failed again. They'll decommission me. Please…”

“Who said anything about sending you back?” Carl gave his shirt a tug, pulling him closer. “I have a friend who can take that light out of your head, and I've got a son about your age. You can have some of his clothes. Do you remember your family at all?”

He shook his head, green eyes wide. Carl sighed and hooked an arm around him, pulling him down with more strength than he expected. He tumbled into the man's lap and found arms wrapped around him. A...hug? He was being hugged?

“Well then, guess you'll be having the spare room, too. And we'll find you a name. A real one.”

Did all hugs feel like this, warm and soft and safe? He shivered, pressing his hands to his eyes. He was starting to cry. “I'm s-s-sorry...I'll try harder next time, I'll do better, I won't cry again…”

“Hey, shh, shh. It's okay, son. You're safe now. You're safe now.”


	2. Hank: 37

Detroit was a city at war.

No, that wasn't true. Detroit was a city that had lost its war. The crumbling houses, the aggressive homeless population, the rampant crimes...These were all the symptoms of a bigger problem: addiction. The tall glass spire of CyberLife Tower was a giant hypodermic needle pumping red ice into the city's veins. It was killing them even as it brought a second life to Detroit.

Thirium. The wonder-fluid. Thirium was developed right here in Detroit by the young genius Elijah Kamski. It was a stable superconductor at remarkably high temperatures, and using certain applications of nanotechnology, it could be shaped into wires and plates. Within five years of the introduction of thirium, Detroit became the manufacturing center of the world again, churning out new designs for levitating vehicles, lossless power transmission, and cybernetic body enhancements. There was even a market for something called “living metal,” thirium-based prosthetics that could grow as their owner did, saving thousands of child amputees from the struggle of needing expensive new prosthetics every few years...if your family could afford the initial investment. 

Wealth poured into Detroit, or specifically, into the pockets of only a few at Detroit. Amanda Stern, the CEO of CyberLife ever since her prodigy Kamski stepped down, was the world's wealthiest woman. Under her firm guidance, CyberLife flourished, and all those lucky enough to find employment there prospered.

But where there was a feast, there was also famine. Zlatko Andronikov, a _pakhan_ , or Russian crime boss, had moved into the city and immediately started sinking his claws in. He was diverting some of CyberLife's thirium production to his own labs, further refining the blue liquid into a red poison.

Red ice. It was a cheap high, immediately addicting. It dissolved the feelings of despair and inadequacy among its users for as long as they were on the crap, making them forget how thirium was driving more automation that was also driving up the unemployment rates. Red ice was easy to get your hands on in Detroit, easy to find and easy to sell.

Detective Hank Anderson was on the DPD's Red Ice Task Force. It was largely due to his dogged determination and careful planning that they successfully managed to raid the red ice distribution center masquerading as an orphanage, but not before a vicious firefight broke out.

Among the dead were three kids, all under the age of ten. Despite their youth, they hadn't been innocent victims. All three had been strung out on red ice, screaming the drug's uncontrollable rage as they picked up guns from fallen enforcers and opened fire on the police.

Eighteen good officers were dead because of those kids. Hank had forced himself to remember that as he helped bag the tiny bodies. He had two sons himself, six year old twins. They were this small too.

That night, Hank went home and took a hot shower, trying to steam the red ice and death from his pores. He got dressed in soft lounge wear and hunted his boys down.

“Daddy!” Cole and Connor broke away from playing with their new St. Bernard puppy, Sumo. They ran into Hank's arms, pressing their smooth faces against his beard and giggling as he growled and shook his head, rubbing their soft cheeks with his bristly beard.

“Grrrr! Papa Bear is home! Have my two cubs been good for Mama Bear?”

“Yes!” Cole squealed. He was taller than his brother, with Hank's pale blue eyes instead of Sharon's rich brown like Connor had.

“Nuh-uh! Cole spilled all of Sumo's water!”

“Yeah, but you were chasing me!”

“You ran into the kitchen!”

“You jumped off the couch!”

“You climbed on the table!”

“Boys, boys!” Hank laughed as the entire saga of an illicit game of indoor tag spilled out of the twins. “ _Did you help clean up?_ ”

“Yes Daddy!”

“And Mommy gave us cookies!”

His boys were good boys. Rambunctious as a pair of devils, prone to flights of distraction and fantasies, but ultimately on the right path to be well-adjusted young men someday. Despite Hank's fears about raising kids in this world, especially in this city, _his_ sons were turning out okay.

“I love you boys,” Hank murmured, squeezing them close against his chest, feeling their little hands patting his back as they snuggled against his heart. “So, _so_ much. Cole. Connor.” He pressed kisses to their dark hair. “My boys.”

Ten days later, they were gone.


	3. Connor: 6*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is what I consider the "cover" of this story, and it was made by the incredible Silver Fables! Any chapter with art will have an asterisk (*) in the chapter title.

The room was cold. It was cold and big and empty. Connor sat tucked against the corner in his brown puppy pajamas, huddled against Cole who was wearing red fire truck pajamas. They had gotten pulled out of bed in the middle of the night. Connor remembered a hand clamping over his mouth. He'd kicked, and something bit his neck and everything went fuzzy and then dark. When he woke up, he was here. Cole was here too. Cole was crying and hugging him. Connor hugged Cole back. “Daddy will come,” he whispered.

Cole nodded. “Daddy's _police_. Police always rescue people.”

“And Sumo too. Sumo can sniff us out.”

“Yeah!” Cole giggled. “I like Sumo!”

“Sumo's the best.” Connor sniffed and peeked around the room again. “...I wish Sumo was here right now.”

“I wish Daddy was here.”

“Ah, my little Andersons!” The door flung open and a large bearlike man filled the room. He had long dark hair and a beard thicker than Connor's dad did. Connor shuffled closer to Cole, feeling his brother mirror the reaction. “You're finally awake! Have a good sleep?”

Cole and Connor looked at each other. Connor shook his head. “We'd like to go home now please,” said Cole.

The man laughed. “My boys, you _are_ home!”

“No we're not “ Connor said. “We're not even in the basement.”

“This is your new home, my precious little lambs!” The man strode up to the twins and leaned down to pinch their cheeks. “Just look at you! A matched set! You're perfect.”

“If you don't take us home, then it's kidnapping,” Cole said. Connor rubbed his sore cheek. “Our dad's a detective. He'll put you in jail.”

“Oh yes,” the man said. “I know your dad well. But he's never going to find you.”

Connor twitched as he recognized the man and tugged Cole's head down to whisper in his ear. “He's Daddy's nemesis! Mr. Zlatko!”

He clearly wasn't quiet enough, because Zlatko just laughed again, big belly laughs like Santa. “Nemesis? Is that what your daddy calls me? Well, I guess he's right! He's my nemesis! And he took something from me. Something very precious and very priceless. Something that took me years to build up.” Zlatko towered over the twins and they cowered away, trying to tuck as far into the corner as they could. “So I decided to do the same. Cole and Connor Anderson. The detective's pride and joys. And now you're mine. My good boys.” He patted their sore cheeks, the ones he'd pinched earlier.

Cole twisted his head to the side and bit Zlatko's fingers. Zlatko roared and swung, but instead of hitting Cole, he backhanded _Connor_ across the face. Connor yelped, falling away from Cole, clutching his eye. Tears were already dripping down his face.

“Oh no, Connor, my poor boy!” Zlatko's arms wrapped around Connor. He cried out again, trying to crawl away, but Zlatko pinned his arms and picked him up.

“Let him go! Let him go, let him go, let him go!” Cole screamed, charging Zlatko and pummeling him with his fists and feet, hitting and kicking as hard as he could. Zlatko kicked Cole away, then shoved Connor against the wall and punched him in the stomach. Connor gagged. He got a second punch and threw up all down the front of his pajamas.

“Every time,” Zlatko hit Connor again and again. Connor cried and curled up as small as he could as Zlatko switched to kicking him, “you fuck up, I'll hurt your brother instead. Do you get that, you little shit?”

He caught Cole when Cole charged him again, pinning him against the wall with one hand against his throat. “You hit me, I hit Connor. Connor hits me, I hit you.” He pushed, making Cole squirm and cry. “Do you understand?”

“D-don't…” Connor coughed and gagged, his stomach seizing up again. His whole body hurt, and Cole was crying. “Don't hurt him!”

“Are you going to be a good boy, Connor?”

Connor nodded, trying to push himself up. “I won't...I won't hit you! I promise! Don't hit him!”

Zlatko laughed, dropping Cole. Cole gasped for breath, clutching at his throat. Connor tried to crawl to Cole, but moving his arms made spikes of pain jab in his chest. Cole _could_ crawl, and he managed to get to Connor's side. Connor whimpered, dragging himself into Cole's legs.

“I'm sorry,” Cole whispered, bending around Connor's head. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you, I'm sorry!”

“Good,” Zlatko said. He stood over the brothers, beaming down at them like a proud parent. Connor felt sick. He wanted his daddy. “Good! You've learned! You are smart boys. That will make you good for this experiment!”

“I hate you,” Cole spat. “I hate you!”

“Be glad I don't hate you, little boy. Be glad I only hate your daddy.” Zlatko patted Cole's head. Cole growled, but he didn't bite. Zlatko ruffled his hair until Cole ducked his head aside. “ _Such_ quick learners.”

“Fuck off,” Cole growled.

“We're not supposed to say that!” Connor sobbed. “Cole, we're gonna get in trouble!”

“Daddy says it all the time to bad guys!”

“You two are adorable,” Zlatko said. “A real double act. Too bad I have to split you up.”

“No!” Cole squeezed Connor, who burst into fresh tears and clutched at Cole's arms, both from the pain in his body and the fear of being apart. “No, you can't!”

“Oh, but I can. And I will. You see, one of you is going to be my special experimental child.” Zlatko crouched down and cupped Connor's face. Cole raised a hand to slap him away, but Zlatko raised an eyebrow at him. Cole's mouth trembled and he looked down at Connor before dropping his hand. “Good boy. The other of you will be my special control child, to make sure your brother behaves. You will do as I tell you, even when you're apart, or your brother will suffer. Fuck up too many times…” He reached out and tweaked Cole under the chin, where bruises were already forming on his neck. “I have no worries about killing a child. In fact, I will quite enjoy stringing you up by your guts for your dear old daddy to find.”

“Don't,” Connor whispered. “Don't hurt Cole! Don't kill him!”

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Connor?”

Connor nodded as desperately as he could.

“And you, Cole? Are you going to behave, or do I get to beat your brother into a pile of blood pudding?”

Cole's arms tightened around Connor's chest. “I'll...be good.”

“Those are my good boys. Those are my very good boys…”


	4. RK800: 16

RK800 was a cold and calculating killing machine. He had been with the Company for ten years now and had well over two hundred hits to his name. After his first year with Zlatko, he had been fitted with a brain implant and turned over to Amanda. Mother. She taught him how to use his enhanced abilities. Zlatko taught him how to fire a gun. Amanda taught him how to find the best place to shoot from.

Killing hadn't come easy to RK800. He still had memories of being a boy named Connor, the gun a heavy, cold weight in his hands. Connor's dad was a police detective. His brother was named Cole.

 _Cole._ The one thing of Before that he still had. RK800 touched his fingers to a leather band he wore around his right wrist. Cole was in the Company's care. As long as RK800 continued to succeed in his missions, Cole would remain in their care. When RK800 failed, Cole got transferred to one of their “persuasion” chambers.

The first time Cole ended up in a persuasion chamber was Connor's fault. Connor hadn't taken the killing shot like he'd been ordered to. Cole lost a strip of skin from around his wrist. Zlatko had it tanned and fashioned into a bracelet which Amanda presented to him. Connor was forced to wear it as a reminder of his failure. RK800 wore it as a reminder of why he needed to succeed. If he succeeded, he'd be gifted a glimpse of Cole, proof that his human half was still alive.

Sometimes RK800 was the one who ended up in a persuasion chamber from ill-thought actions of Cole's. RK800 never blamed him. Cole had always been the more volatile of the two. It made sense that being locked up in a room drove him to lash out occasionally. As they grew older, the persuasions grew less frequent. Cole was mellowing with age. Good. The last thing RK800 needed was an injury requiring him to compensate on a mission.

Not that these missions were hard. He'd already finished this hit without even disturbing the husband in the bed. Now he just needed to slip back outside without being noticed.

RK800 crept down the stairs. Something soft and dark shot between his legs, and his foot came down on a long, thin tail. 

The cat he'd stepped on _screamed_.

Light flooded the upstairs hall as the husband awoke. His voice was muffled, but then he was screaming too, having found his wife's bloody corpse beside him.

RK800 bolted. Speed was now much more important than stealth. There was a live-in maid at this house. He flew past her room as the door opened, vaulting out the already open window at the end of the hall. _Shit, shit, shit!_

He hadn't screwed up this badly in _years_ , when he took those three bullets in his chest. Zlatko had to replace his human heart with a mechanical one. RK800 really did not want to endure such catastrophic physical damage again. He needed a place to hide. Fast.

A small ornamental tree gave him the height he needed to vault over the garden wall into the neighbor's yard. He raced around their pool and up the slide, jumping to the top of the brick wall on this side. There! A window on the second floor was open!

RK800 scrambled up the brickwork, gripping even the slightest ledge provided by the mortar. He pried the window screen loose and shimmied in, catching it before it could fall and tucking it back into place.

Okay. Relative safety. Now he just needed to hide until the coast was clear.

He was in a bedroom. RK800 scanned it in the dim light filtering through the window. One life sign, a teenage boy, asleep in the bed. RK800 cross-referenced the age against the address. This was either Leo or Markus Manfred. Not a threat.

There were several places he could hide. Under the bed. In the closet. Possibly even behind the desk, if he contorted.

Closet might be easiest. He crossed the room, but just as he reached for the handle, a garbled groan split the silence of the room. There was a baby monitor beside the bed. 

The boy was stirring.

Collateral damage was discouraged but allowed. RK800 didn't want to kill an innocent child if he didn't have to, but he couldn't risk being caught. He flattened himself into the darkest shadows of the room, breathing softly though his mouth.

The boy sat up with a loud yawn and stretch. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his phone. When he picked it up, it illuminated the time, the sudden white light catching the glimmer of metal on RK800's gun.

Green eyes met his in the dim room.

RK800 lifted the gun in one fluid motion, pointing directly at the boy's right eye. It was the call sign of the Company. He could shoot an eye out across a football field. Over six feet was a cakewalk.

The boy lifted his hands, letting his phone slip to the bed. His heart rate and breathing were elevated, pupils dilated, sweat breaking out. He was terrified.

"Please..." The boy spoke first. He licked his dry lips, hands trembling as he kept them in the air. "Please, my dad...He needs his meds..." The boy nodded toward the baby monitor. "He's bedridden, he can't...please. Let me help him, and I'll come right back here. I swear. You can listen to everything I say on that. I won't give you away. I just... _Please_!"

Letting the boy go was stupid. Risky. And yet he was staring down a gun barrel and begging not for his life, but for his dad's comfort.

RK800 remembered someone Connor would call 'dad.' A rumbly voice, a scratchy beard, being crushed against a chest both firm and soft and the words whispered fiercely in his ear. _I love you so, so much._

RK800 twitched the gun toward the door. "Don't make me kill him too."

The boy nodded rapidly, scrambling out of the bed and for the door before RK800 could change his mind.

Shit. _Shit_. He needed to get out before the boy came back. He needed to kill the kid? If the kid was smart, he'd already be on the phone with the police.

 _"Dad?"_ The boy's voice came through the monitor. _"Here, sit up. Let me see your arm."_

RK800 stared. The kid was really helping his father?

_"Markus...I thought I told you to turn that thing off..."_

_"And I told you I'm not letting you suffer needlessly. Your arm."_

_"You're a growing boy. You need your sleep."_

_"So do you, old man. There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"_

_"Go back to bed, Markus."_ __  
_  
_ _"Not yet. I want to sit with you until it kicks in."_

There it was. The boy, Markus, was going to tell his dad about the assassin in his room now. RK800 went to the window. There were police lights outside his target's house. Damn.

_"Is everything all right, Markus?"_

_"Yeah, I just...I really love you, Dad. I know I'm not really your son, but you've never..."_

_"Now hold it right there. Since when have you not really been my son?"_

_"I-"_ __  
_  
_ _"Markus, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: I don't care about your past. Your childhood. You are my son, my wonderfully kind, creative, gifted son, and I have loved you from the day I first met you."_

_"Dad... Carl..."_ __  
_  
_ _"Come here, my boy."_

Sheets rustled. Were they hugging? When was Markus going to tell his dad to call the police?

_"It's been two minutes. Are you feeling better now?"_ __  
_  
_ _"Yes, Markus. The medication is taking the edge off. Thank you."_

_"I love you, Dad. Always. Okay? No matter what? I just...I really love you."_

He wasn't calling the police.

He was saying goodbye.

RK800 stared at the monitor. The boy was saying goodbye to his father to come back here to die.

Because he said he would.

And he wasn't saying the word goodbye so he wouldn't tip his father off to the danger.

Because he said he wouldn't.

_"I love you too, Markus."_ __  
__  
_"Good night..."_ __  
__  
_"Good night, son. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."_ __  
_  
_ _"Yes...in the morning."_

RK800 slipped beneath the bed. He grabbed a knife from his boot and slit the flimsy cloth covering the bottom of the box spring and climbed inside, balancing on the slats. He tucked the cut ends beneath him so they wouldn't flutter down.

The door opened, and Markus returned. "Okay. You can kill me now. Just...please make it quiet, so he doesn't wake up ag..." 

Markus trailed off. He moved around the room, his steps unusually quiet for a lanky teenager. He checked in the closet, under the bed, even behind the desk. RK800 kept his breathing as soft as possible.

"...you're gone?" A weight sank down on the bed above RK800. "I thought..."

Markus got up and moved to the window. He stood there for a while. Then he crept back into bed. RK800 listened to the sheets rustle. Markus' breathing did not deepen in sleep. Neither did RK800's. They stayed awake all night.

In the morning, Markus' phone chirped an alarm. He shut it off and got out of bed. The door shut behind him.

RK800 remained hidden in the bed until well after 9 AM. Markus and Leo Manfred were enrolled at a local private high school and would be at class. Carl Manfred was wheelchair bound and easily avoided.

He slipped out of the house...but not before downloading the house's floorplan from the internal security system (and adding himself to the approved list).

His target was eliminated and he would make it back to the Company with no damage.

Mission successful.


	5. Markus: 16*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is from the incredible kao! You can find more of their art at Twitter @rnachine (NSFW!)!

Markus had been distracted all day. He nearly walked face first into a wall. Leo tried to push him down a flight of stairs, and all Markus said was "Thanks." All his friends were giving him odd looks. Simon and Daniel even took to flanking him in the halls, catching him before he tripped over his own feet.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Yeah, just...didn't get much sleep last night." _Because I thought I was about to be decommissioned._

Markus tried to make dinner, but his distraction continued. He didn't even notice until the vegetables he was supposed to be sauteing ended up catching on fire. Markus yelped and covered the pan with the lid, turning off the heat and calling for some Thai delivery. If he plated it, maybe they wouldn't notice?

Carl complemented the meal like always. Leo sunk low in his seat and insulted it like always, then took off to his room.

Carl followed Markus into the kitchen as Markus began loading the dishwasher.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been off all day, Markus. Ever since you came in with my medicine this morning."

"Oh." Markus focused on the plates. "I'm just...tired."

"No, I don't think that's it."

Markus turned to the sink, where he'd left the burnt pan soaking. He picked up a brush to scrub at the ruined vegetables. "I don't..."

"I'm not an idiot, Markus. I know something's wrong."

"...promise you won't call the police?"

Carl sucked in a breath. "Did they find you?"

"I don't know?" Markus plunged his arms into the hot soapy water, closing his eyes. "There was an RK in my room last night."

"Are you sure? I thought they were all dead."

Markus shot Carl a glare. "I know an RK when I see one." Young, but with the faint glow of an implanted LED beneath a knit cap. Unblinking stares. Silent walk. Precise, efficient movements. A gun pointed at his right eye.

"So they've made more." Carl sunk his head into his hands. "Those _bastards._ "

"He didn't shoot me."

" _Obviously!_ "

"You woke up, woke me up, and I caught him in the corner. He... I asked him if I could help you first." Markus stared into the soapy black water. "I begged him to let me give you your meds. And he let me."

"Last night..." Carl reached up, holding his chest above his heart. "Oh Markus. You were saying goodbye?"

"I thought you'd find me dead in the morning," Markus whispered. "I just...wanted you to know that you made my life mean something. You made me a _person_ , and I just..."

"Come here, son," Carl demanded, opening his arms.

Markus all but fell into his lap, ignoring the suds clinging to his wet arms. He clutched at his father, shaking with sobs.

"Tell me what you need," Carl said. He stroked Markus' hair, rocking him gently. "Do we need to move? Hide? Leave the city? Give Eli a call? How can I protect you?"

"I don't know." Markus sniffed, digging a handkerchief out of his pocket to mop at his face. "I don't...I don't know if he recognized me. Hiding might be the _worst_ option..."

"What do you mean? He was in your room to kill you!"

Markus shook his head. "There were police two houses down. I checked the news. Mrs. Stapleton was murdered in her bed. I think _she_ was the hit, and I...I might have been coincidence."

"Lori Stapleton?" Carl shook his head sadly. "I told her it wasn't a good idea to try to start her own red ice business..."

"I left my window open, because it was such a nice night. He must've seen it and climbed in..." Markus sat back on Carl's knees, careful of how much weight he was putting on his father's frail body. Just because Carl couldn't feel it didn't mean Markus couldn't hurt him. "He was gone when I came back."

"Is that normal RK behavior? I thought they were supposed to be killing machines."

"Collateral damage is discouraged," Markus said. "But not completely forbidden. He should have killed me when I saw him...but maybe he didn't want to draw attention with the murder of a minor. Letting me leave the room was a good way to have time for an escape."

"Hm." Carl frowned. "I'm still not entirely convinced we shouldn't hide..."

"It wouldn't help. They'd find us anyway. If anything, I'd have to split off to draw attention away-"

"Absolutely not."

"Carl..."

" _Markus._ " Carl fixed Markus with a stern look. "I knew what I was getting into the moment you said you were an RK. Don't think for a moment I'm 'in over my head' or that _you_ have to protect _me_. I have been protecting you from those bastards all these years, thumbing my nose in their faces with every day of a normal life you've had. I am _not_ about to stop now just because their latest robot caught a glimpse of you."

"You're going to make me cry again..."

"You're the one setting me off." Carl squeezed Markus tight again. "If he comes back, you tell me right away, okay? If you feel at all threatened by them, you let me know."

"Okay..."

"Promise me, Markus."

"I promise."

The RK did not come back that night. Markus passed out around three in the morning from exhaustion. Carl called him in sick to school.

He didn't come back the next night either.

After a week of his sleep routine being completely shot, Markus finally let himself relax enough to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. Of course, this was the night that he jolted awake when a heavy weight landed on him, pinning him to the bed. His arms were yanked above his head, wrists held against the pillow, and an arm pressed into his windpipe, cutting off his air.

The RK was _sitting on him_ , face inches away from his own.

 

Markus stared up at rich brown eyes glittering in the dim light of a half-covered yellow LED and was instantly ashamed that his first thought was _he's really hot!_ This was very likely a half robotic assassin with more kills to his name than Markus had paintings. He was _dangerous_ , not hot!

But he was sitting just inches above Markus' dick and leaning in close, and Markus was sixteen, dammit, and only human!

"Don't scream," the RK hissed. "Call for help and I'll kill you. Understood? Nod."

Markus nodded. His vision was starting to go spotty. The RK lifted his arm, letting him suck in a breath, and moved to hold Markus' wrists with both hands. Markus squirmed, testing the hold. He _might_ be able to twist the RK off, but he'd struggle with the sheets. He was pretty effectively pinned here. But the RK had made the hold _less_ fatal, and he was frowning down at Markus, scrutinizing him. What the hell was going on?

"Why did you do that?"

"Wha...?" Markus didn't understand what the RK was referring to. Yellow LED. He was processing something?

"With your dad. You begged me not to kill you until after you helped him. You had every opportunity to get help, or run, but you didn't. You came back to let me kill you."

"I..." Markus was really struggling to wake his brain up.

"Why did you come back?"

"I said I would?"

"Yes, but _why_?"

"Because I thought you were going to kill me anyway." The RK800 really seemed confused by Markus. Despite the position, Markus didn't feel all that threatened. The killer's gun was in his holster. Markus could see it if he craned his neck up.

"If I was going to kill you anyway, why would it matter if it were before or after you gave him his medicine?"

"It would matter to him. It would mean he wasn't suffering when I died. It would mean I could see him one more time, hug him one more time, tell him that I loved him one more time...and that he could have that as his last memory of me."

The RK tilted his head to the side.

He released Markus' wrists and put his hands on either side of Markus' head. There was a shot electrical burst that jolted in his brain, and everything went black.

Markus woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and his alarm going off. There were two tiny red marks on either side of his head from a set of shock braces. Last night hadn't been a dream. The RK had returned.

And hadn't killed him.

"...Carl?" Markus deviated from his usual routine to find his father first thing. "I don't think he recognized me..."

That wasn't the last visit from the RK. Three nights later, Markus found himself pinned to the bed again, though without the arm across his throat.

"He's not your father."

"Uh..." Markus knew that the killer was crouched low on his abs to use his body weight to pin Markus to the bed, but it _really_ didn't help drag his mind out of the gutter it fell into when he was jerked awake like this. "What?"

"Carl Manfred. He's not your father. You were adopted when you were six."

Markus blinked, his face heating up. "Yeah, so?"

"Why did it matter what his last memory of you was? Why did it matter what your last memory of him was?"

The RK was obviously frustrated. There was a harsh spin to the yellow of his LED. Markus pitied the other boy. Love was so painfully clearly not an emotion he understood. "Maybe he's not my biological father, but he's the man who raised me. He took me in when I had _nothing_ , not even..." _Whoa, hold on there._ This RK didn't recognize him, but RKs were chosen for intelligence, and that brain implant was heightening his cognitive abilities. If Markus dropped too many hints, he might end up identified after all.

"He gave me a family. An identity. Purpose. _Love_. So yeah, that's why it mattered. He gave me _everything_. He saved me from my past, and if the only things I can give him in return are pain relief in the middle of the night and a good memory before I get shot in my room, then of course I'd seize it!"

The RK frowned deeper. He released Markus' wrists and reached for his head.

"Wait!" Markus grabbed the other boy's hands. They were cool and firm. Reduced circulation over thirium limbs. Markus' heart broke at the thought of this RK feeling the same knife he had, cutting away his human arms and saving only the skin. "Wait."

The RK's head tilted to the side. A lock of hair was trying to get free from his cap.

"Can I ask a question?"

There was a long pause, but then the RK nodded. "You can ask." _I might not answer_ was as good as spoken.

Markus licked his lips. Asking for his name probably wouldn't go over well, if he even had a name to remember. Same with asking about family. If he asked for the RK's designation, he'd give away that he knew way too much about the Company for an average teenager. "How old are you?" he settled on.

The RK blinked. Frowned. "Sixteen."

"Oh! Same as me!"

"I know." The hands clamped on his head and Markus passed out under another electric jolt.

"He's sixteen," Markus told Carl the next day as he helped clean the studio.

"He came back again?" Carl frowned down from his position in the chair lift. "Markus, that's the third time..."

"I think he's trying to understand how I can love you. He's very confused."

"Markus. He's an RK. He's a _murderer_."

"He's sixteen!"

"You were six!"

Markus shut his mouth, his jaw jutting mulishly. Carl sighed. "Markus, I love you. I'm _worried_. You have a teenage serial killer trying to get into your head."

"I really don't think he's trying to kill me. He's confused."

"So you keep saying." Carl looked at his painting and sighed, setting his brush aside. "Markus...did you know him at the Company? If he's your age..."

Markus shook his head, putting away the clean brushes. "That's...they liked younger kids. Younger kids survived the surgeries better. But he wasn't there when I was there, so he was at least six when he was taken."

"That's still a long time to be with them, Markus. There might not be anything human left."

"Or maybe that was enough time to remember how to be human even when they try to strip it away."

Carl transferred back to his chair and wheeled across the room. He tugged Markus down into a hug. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Markus. It's been ten years since you fought anyone. It's been less than ten days for him. You're not evenly matched."

"I'll be careful. I promise."

It took two weeks before the RK returned. Markus was actually wondering if he'd gotten all his answers. But no, just past one AM, a heavy weight was on his stomach and cool fingers were around his wrists.

"You're back...!"

"You were six."

Markus blinked thickly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. "Look...you're gonna need to give me more context if you're going to insist on asking me questions at this hour."

"When you were adopted. You were six."

Markus gave a slow nod. When no more words seemed to be forthcoming, he prompted the RK. "And...?"

"You said Carl saved you from your past.  But you were six. How much past could you have had to be saved from?"

Markus was suddenly very awake. _Shit._ The RK would be able to tell if he was lying from any nervous responses. He was probably measuring Markus' pulse now. Probably already knew that was a hot question.

"Not everyone has good parents," Markus said carefully. "Mine...I had an absent father and an abusive mother." He swallowed. " _Very_ abusive." The RK's head tilted to the side. Markus wanted to tug that one curl free. His fingers twitched. "There were days I wanted to die," Markus whispered. "Too many days. I was _six_ , I didn't..." He closed his eyes and looked away from that dark stare.

"I ran away," he said. "I stopped in the middle of a street. Carl saved me from getting hit by a car, and then he just saved me. I never had to go back to _her_ again."

"How was she abusive?"

"Really? You're _really_ asking me to go back there?" Markus didn't have to fake his dread. "She just...she'd hurt me. She'd make me... I had to do things I hated. Things I was ashamed of. Even then, when I barely knew any better...I knew it was wrong. _I_ was wrong."

The RK was silent and still. Markus squirmed and finally looked back up at that blank expression. " _What_? Do you need more sordid details from my screwed up past!?"

The RK blinked and shook his head. That little curl bounced lose and curled against his forehead. "Did you have a question for me?"

 _Can I touch your hair?_ Markus bit his lip. "Are we doing that, then? I get to ask you questions too?"

"You don't have to..." The RK moved his hands to Markus' head.

"No, wait, I want to! Just let me think..." Markus couldn't help himself. His hand drifted up and brushed against the loose lock of hair. He tucked it back beneath the RK's cap. The other boy's eyes were huge. He looked like _he_ had just been the one shocked. Markus kind of liked it. "What do you do in your spare time?"

"Spare...time?"

"Yeah, you know, when you're not hiding in my room or threatening people with guns?"

That had been a stupid question. Markus already knew the answer. The RK would sharpen his skills or sit in his room until sent on a mission. That's what Markus did.

"I prepare for my missions, complete my missions, and wait for my next missions." The RK frowned. "Enough questions." His hands clamped on Markus' head.

Markus was getting _really_ tired of waking up with a pounding headache.

He was also getting tired of standing in the shower, desperately jerking off while envisioning being pinned to his bed (or pinning the RK and giving him a taste of his own medicine), but that was another problem entirely.

It took thirteen days before the RK sat on him again. Markus bit his lip hard, trying to wiggle a little lower beneath him, just in case. The RK's fingers were loose around his wrists. Markus probably could pull free if he wanted to.

He didn't.

"Your pulse is elevated, but you don't seem to be giving any other fear signals."

"Yeah, well...If you were going to kill me, you'd already have done it, right?"

The RK ducked his head. Was that a _blush_? Markus' heart skipped a beat. That was not something RKs were supposed to do. He _did_ have humanity left!

The RK shook his head, scowling. "What do you...You said you did things you were ashamed of. What do you do when you're feeling ashamed of things you'd done in the past? Things you can't change?"

Oh.

_Oh._

Was the RK...questioning the Company?

_You are their elite killer. If I can turn you, I can tear out their teeth!_

"I get it out. The emotions. The shame." Markus wiggled his arms lower, catching the RK's hands in his. The RK was staring at him again. "I do something creative, like paint. I force all the bad out until I'm too tired to feel wrong anymore."

"You paint?" The RK's hands twisted over Markus'. Their fingers interlaced.

"My dad's a world famous painter," Markus reminded him. "I'm pretty good myself..."

The RK sat up abruptly, pulling his hands away from Markus'. Markus yelped, fearing he might go back too far and feel...excitement. "What's your question?" The RK was breathing heavier. Markus didn't need a brain implant to tell.

"What's your favorite animal?" _Can I kiss you?_

The RK's eyes unfocused. He folded his arms around himself and shivered. "I like dogs."

Markus knew a sensitive topic when he prodded it. He sat up slowly, keeping his hands where the RK could see them. "Did you have a dog?"

"You sleep now."

The RK's hands clapped above Markus' ears and he dropped unconscious to his pillows.

A couple days later, Carl wheeled up behind Markus. "That's the fourth dog you've painted this week."

Markus jumped and tossed his brush in surprise. "I'm not obsessed!"

Carl laughed. "My, that was _quite_ a strong reaction, Markus. Who's the lucky other?"

"What? Who? What other?" Markus was sure his face was bright red as he went after his brush, wiping the splatters of paint up from the floor.

"The lovely person who likes dogs who had caught your eye."

"How did you know!?"

Carl raised an eyebrow and gestured around the studio. Markus' side was rapidly filling up with dogs. "You like birds."

Markus dropped his head into his hands. "Don't hate me..."

"You know I could never hate you, Markus."

"He likes dogs."

"He?"

Markus groaned, looking up at the skylights. " _He_! Him! The RK! He likes dogs..."

"And you like him."

Markus looked desperately at Carl when he heard that flat voice. "Please don't hate me..."

"Oh Markus. Markus, come here." Carl opened his arms, and Markus moved into the offered hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I just...He's so _sad_ , Dad, and confused, and hurt, and _beautiful_..."

"And dangerous. Markus, you can't save everyone. He's not one of your strays to nurse back to health."

"He's ashamed of what he's done, Dad. And...and I think he might like me. _Like_ me, like me." Markus took a deep breath. "I think I can get him out."

"Without getting yourself killed in the process?" Carl asked quietly.

"I think so. I have to try."

Carl's eyes were sad, even though he smiled. "You are a good boy, Markus. Be careful."

Markus took the dog paintings upstairs when they were dry. He set them around his room and opened his window. "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?" Markus sighed. "Come visit tonight?"

The RK did not visit that night. Or the next night. It took five nights before he was sitting on Markus' stomach again. He wasn't even trying to hold Markus' wrists down anymore.

"Good morning." Markus yawned and smiled up at the RK. "I made you something. Things."

The RK looked around the room. "You painted those? For me?"

"Which one's your favorite?"

The RK climbed off the bed and pulled Markus' heavy curtains closed, then turned on the light.

It was the first time Markus had seen the other boy properly. He was beautiful in the shadows and breathtaking in the light. His skin was pale, luminescent in the way people who rarely saw the sun were. It made his large eyes appear almost black in contrast. He was probably shorter than Markus, but not by much. He was wearing faded black skinny jeans and a charcoal gray bomber jacket, with calf-high leather boots. His knitted hat was black, pushing down brown hair that might have a hint of cinnamon in the sun. Though he seemed slender, Markus knew not to be deceived. His arms, at least, were cybernetically enhanced. He didn't need muscles for his strength. Markus could count three guns and six possible knives, and he suspected there were many more.

In short, if he hadn't fallen already for this teenage assassin, he would have now.

 

"This one." The RK knelt by a stylized St. Bernard. Markus had seen it playing with a grizzled old man when he went to the dog park for inspiration. "I like this one."

"I'll remember that," Markus said. "St. Bernards. Cool."

"They get so big..." The RK brushed his fingers over the paint as if petting the dog, his eyes distant. "But they start so small..."

 _You had a St. Bernard puppy._ Markus filed the clue into the RK's history away. He wanted to know everything he could about the other boy. "You can take it with you. I painted it for you."

“I don’t have any place to put it.” The RK pulled his hand back. “You keep it.”

Markus knew he’d refuse, but he had to offer anyway. “What’s your question tonight?”

The RK looked back at Markus, then flipped the lights off. Markus sighed to himself. He wanted to keep looking at the RK in the light. The RK sat on the bed, swinging one leg over Markus and pushing him back against his pillows.

Markus swallowed. Maybe one of these days, he’d have to ask what the RK’s deal was with sitting on top of him. Maybe the RK just liked it. Maybe he’d like to sit on Markus’— _no not going there right now!_

“You were adopted. But you paint like your father. But you can’t possibly have any of his talent. You’re not blood related.”

“Talent has very little to do with _talent_ and more to do with skill,” Markus said. He tucked his arms beneath his head, looking up at the RK. “It doesn’t matter if I have my dad’s talent or not. I have his dedication and his passion for it. He’s taught me the skill. The people around you, who influence you, they can shape your life in so many ways. Bits of them rub off on you, and bits of you rub off on them.”

Aaaand that was a bad choice of words on Markus’ part. Maybe it was a good thing the lights were off, so the RK couldn’t see how bright Markus’ face was, thinking about bits of him rubbing off on the other boy.

“What if... what if you don’t have good influences around you?”

The RK’s voice was always quiet, to keep anyone from hearing Markus’ mid-night visitor, but it was uncharacteristically soft this time. Markus could just make out the way the RK bit his lip and dipped his head in the dim glow from his LED. That was a mood killer if anything. Markus sat up slowly and set his hands on the RK’s. “Then ditch the bad influences and find new ones. Good ones.”

The RK pulled his hands away and folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head. “Ask your question.”

Markus drew his own hands back. “What happened to your family?”

The RK looked up at him, a flash of... betrayal? in his eyes. His hands slammed into either side of Markus’ head.

Markus had a bruise on his left temple the next day. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for North to poke at and tease him over. Markus had made up a story about tripping into his easel to answer his friends’ questions, and now Markus the falling artist was all they’d talk about.

Clearly, that had been the wrong question to ask. Markus prodded the bruise gingerly. He thought they were better friends than that.

 _He’s a murderer._ Carl’s voice rang in his mind. Markus sighed. He was a murderer who dreamed about a St. Bernard puppy he used to have, and who knew that what he did was wrong.

Markus wanted to save him.

He wanted to free him.

He wanted to kiss him.

He _really_ wanted to stop fantasizing about the RK riding him while pinning his wrists over his head.

“Have you tried telling him how you feel?” Carl asked one morning as Markus picked listlessly at his breakfast.

“I don’t think he’d understand feelings if I tried.”

“How about kissing him?” Carl asked. “That’s usually pretty unmistakable.”

“Please don’t talk about kissing, Dad.”

He dreamed about a heavy weight pinning him down. About opening his eyes and finding the RK leaning over him. About leaning up to kiss him. However... lifting his head made his neck twinge awkwardly.

That didn’t happen in dreams.

This wasn’t a dream.

The RK was on his stomach again, and Markus really wanted to kiss him, but the light in the room was red. Red and pulsing, barely a sliver poking out from beneath the cap. The RK was in distress. Kissing him might get Markus killed, so he pushed words out instead.

“You know, most people _knock_ when visiting their friends!”

The red flashed to yellow. The RK sat back, his mouth dropping open. “Are... are we _friends_?”

“I...” Markus shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what else we could possibly call this...?”

“I’m... not a very good friend.”

“No, but... you’re you.” Markus sighed, slumping back against his pillows. “I like you anyway. Go figure.”

“You like me?”

“Don’t ask me why. I really don’t know. But yeah. I like you.”

“Oh.” The light was still yellow. Whatever had made it red earlier was likely a mental issue, then, and not a physical injury. Markus remembered many days with his own light flashing red warnings as Amanda…

He didn’t want to think about Amanda.

“I like you too.”

“Yeah?” Markus smiled at the RK. He looked surprised again, and then, hesitantly, twitched an awkward smile back. It was _adorable_.

“You answer my questions.”

“I thought maybe you’d run out,” Markus teased. “You took so long getting back here.”

“I was thinking.” The RK rubbed his hands together, staring at his own fingers. “About what you said.”

“About getting new influences around you and kicking the bad ones to the curb?”

The RK nodded. “What if... what if you can’t?” His LED flickered red again. He winced, reaching up and tugging the beanie down to hide the light.

“If you can’t... then maybe you need to do something drastic,” Markus said quietly. He reached out, finding the RK’s hands in the dark. The RK clung to him. “I’ll be here for you. If you ever need me. If there’s ever anything I can help you with. Anything at all.”

“You can’t help me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know.” The RK’s fingers squeezed around his hands. “Ask your question.”

Markus squeezed the RK’s hands back. “We’re friends,” he began. “And friends know things about their friends. I know your favorite type of dog and what you do during the day and how old you are, but I don’t know the most important thing.”

“Which is?”

Markus licked his lips and braced for another headache. “What’s your name?”

There was silence. Markus wasn’t sure if silence was good or bad. However, since the RK wasn’t pulling his hands back, Markus was willing to bet on _good_.

“RK800.”

It was a designation, not a name, but to an RK, there was little difference. Markus closed his eyes. “RK800,” he repeated. That was after his time, but probably not much. He only remembered up to RK600. “My name is Markus.”

“I know.”

RK800’s hands pulled out of Markus’ and caressed his temples. They were soft this time, not slapping Markus, but petting against his short hair. Markus reached up, catching RK800’s hands beneath his own.

There was an electric shock.

RK800 did not come back.

A month passed. Markus had to force himself to stop staring forlornly out his window.

Two months passed. Markus bought a stuffed St. Bernard and put it on his pillows.

Three months passed. Markus was almost seventeen. Leo knocked on his door late one night.

Markus groaned, pressing his face into his pillows. He and his brother did not get along. Leo fucked himself up on red ice and was constantly getting arrested. He broke Carl’s heart every time he had to get bailed out of jail. He was constantly trying to get more money to buy more drugs. Markus wished he could just shake some sense into the older boy.

He could only do the next best thing and keep Leo from stealing any of his money. That tentative tap was how Leo tested to see if Markus was asleep before sneaking in.

Markus rolled out of bed and stalked to the door. He flung it open.

RK800 was standing there, rubbing his hands together.

That was... not what Markus had been expecting. Was he dreaming? Was this a dream?

“Connor.”

“What?” Markus shook his head. “Context?”

“My name.” He twisted his fingers together, shifting from foot to foot. “It was Connor. Before.”

“Connor,” Markus repeated.

Connor flinched at the sound of his name, looking up and down the hall. He tugged on a leather bracelet around his wrist.

When was the last time he’d heard anyone else say his name? Markus knew how strict the Company was on dehumanizing their killers. A name was a weakness.

“I can’t stay,” Connor said.

“I know,” Markus replied.

“I just... I wanted someone to know.” Connor stopped fidgeting for a moment, looking up into Markus’ eyes. “ _You._ I wanted you to know. My name.”

“Thank you.”

“I should go.” Connor shifted his weight again, then stepped forward, lifting his hands.

“Wait!” Markus raised his own hands. “Wait, can I watch you leave?”

“Watch me?”

Markus nodded. “Friends don’t taze each other,” he said. “They say good-bye.”

“Oh.” Connor dropped his hands. “Um. Okay. Good-bye?”

“Good-bye.”

Connor backed up until he hit the railing protecting him from a fall down to the entrance hall. He grabbed it with his hands, flipping backwards. Markus ran forward, leaning over the edge in time to see Connor land like a cat and dart for the front door, which opened smoothly for him.

He sank down to his knees, resting his head against the bars, an utterly stupid grin on his face.

Connor.

His name was Connor.


	6. RK800/Connor: 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in the last chapter has been updated to higher resolution versions!

Not all of RK800’s missions involved hits. Sometimes they were sabotage. Sometimes he was inconspicuous muscle.

They were mostly hits.

But sometimes, like tonight, he was passing for someone much older than he was at a club with pulsing blue lights and pounding music. Over half the crowd had LED tattoos, so he left his cap off, showing off the circle on his temple as if he were proud of it. He also left behind the bomber jacket, instead wearing a slim-fitting black t-shirt.

There was a red ice drop going down, and RK800 was here just in case things went south. They didn’t seem to be. The package was in position, and the cleaners were coming to get it.

RK800 turned away from the bar, striding toward the bathroom. Forty more minutes, and then he could make his own escape.

A completely wasted man shoved past, pushing people aside in his wake. RK800 growled as he was shoved into another young man, spilling his drink. “Some people,” the young man grumbled, but whatever he was about to complain trailed off as RK800 turned to glance at him. “ _Connor!?_ ”

_Markus._

RK800 blinked. Heat flushed his body, starting as a warm bubble in his chest and ending in an electric frisson to the ends of his artificial fingers. Aside from the occasional picture in his searches of the other boy, RK800 had never seen Markus outside of his pajamas, which usually consisted of an oversized t-shirt and... whatever he wore beneath the sheets.

Tonight, though... tonight Markus was dressed for the club.  His partially unbuttoned shirt gaped open, revealing a surprisingly toned chest for a boy Markus’ age. He had to work out. It glistened under the club lighting from the freshly spilled beer. He was wearing jewelry, necklaces that fell against his bare skin and directed Connor’s eyes downward to his dark trousers that seemed practically painted on his long legs.

“Aren’t you a little young to be here?” Markus asked, giving up on trying to wipe the beer off his chest.

“Aren’t you?” Connor retorted, tearing his eyes away.

“I’m seventeen!” Markus threw his hands up. “We’re celebrating! And now you’re here too! My wish came true!”

“Seventeen is still too young...” Markus wished for him to be here? Connor felt that warm fizzle again. “Happy birthday, Markus.”

“Thank you!” Markus caught Connor’s hands and tugged. “Come on, you have to dance with me!”

“I...!” Connor looked past Markus at the dance floor full of people moving and grinding. “I...don’t dance, Markus...” Dancing was not something an RK had to do. It was not part of RK800’s lessons with Amanda _or_ Zlatko. It was not part of his curriculum to keep him from being completely inept if he ever needed to have conversation with someone. He didn’t know how to dance.

Connor wanted to dance with Markus.

“I’ll teach you,” Markus said, giving Connor’s hands another tug. “It’s easy. C’mon!”

Connor felt his feet move, following Markus onto the dance floor. He didn’t need to be doing anything for this mission other than be here in the event of a catastrophe. And if there _was_ a catastrophe, Markus would stop dancing and run with everyone else.

It was okay. He had forty minutes he needed to occupy. He could dance. This was not compromising RK800’s mission.

“This sort of dancing is _really_ easy,” Markus declared, turning to face Connor. “You just... move! With the music!”

Connor stood awkwardly as Markus began to dance. He didn’t know what to do. “Markus...”

“Just...” Markus moved closer, his hands falling onto Connor’s hips, “ _move_.”

Connor bit his lip. He was struggling to keep his LED blue as Markus guided him.

“Close your eyes,” Markus suggested, leaning in close as if Connor didn’t have bionically enhanced ears that could pick up every noise Markus made from thirty feet away. “It’ll help! Just feel the music!”

Connor trusted Markus. He _did_. He closed his eyes. His hands fluttered awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them, before they found purchase on Markus’ shoulders. One was actually mostly on bare skin, pushing at the open neck of Markus’ shirt. Markus was warm beneath his touch, warm and alive, smelling of beer and cologne and sweat.

Feel the music.

Connor could feel the pulsing bass, could feel the way Markus’ hands pushed and pulled his hips, the way Markus’ shoulders moved beneath his fingers. He could follow a rhythm. He knew how to move his body. He just had to combine the two.

“That’s it!”

Markus sounded so excited. Connor opened his eyes to find Markus beaming at him as they moved together. “You got it! You’re dancing!”

Markus’ face was flushed. He’d had far too much to drink for his metabolism. He was beautiful. He was kind. He was selfless. He was everything Connor wasn’t.

Was he leaning in?

No, _Connor_ was...

No...

They _both_ were.

Connor knew what a kiss was. He’d never kissed anyone himself, but he’d seen it happening in front of him before.

He didn’t know how a kiss would feel.

And even though he’d _seen_ it plenty of times at the Eden Club... he didn’t realize how much went into a kiss.

Markus’ lips met his, soft and wet. Connor felt an involuntary noise escape his throat, and his arms slid over Markus’ shoulders.

Markus was moving closer, moving his mouth. Was he talking, or... no, no, that was part of the kiss. Should Connor do that too? He didn’t know!

But oh. _Oh_. Markus’ arm folding around his waist, their bodies still moving together...

Connor could move to a rhythm. He could move to Markus’ rhythm.

Curiously, he let his enhanced tongue slip between his lips, tasting Markus like he’d wanted to for _months_ now. Markus’ lips tasted mostly of beer and sweat, but he groaned, his mouthing opening beneath Connor’s. That groan shot straight to Connor’s dick with a painful jolt.

Connor jerked back.

Markus looked up sharply, licking his lips. “Connor...?”

“I have to go.”

Shit. _Shit._ Amanda would know. What was he thinking, getting aroused!? And on a mission, too? Amanda would know. She’d _know_!

“Connor!”

Connor was already pushing off through the crowd but he stopped and looked back. Markus was left standing there, a look of complete dismay on his beautiful face.

It was too late. Amanda already knew. One more kiss wouldn’t hurt.

Connor flew back to Markus’ side, grabbing his shoulders and pressing their mouths together. “I’m sorry. I have to go. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye...” Markus was still standing there as Connor fled, bursting outside the club.

He took several deep breaths of the cool night air, pushing his hand through his hair. Glancing around, he pressed the heel of his palm against his groin and bit his lip. It did nothing to relieve the pressure. The thirium cage that was keeping him from having an erection was also preventing him from touching himself.

Connor sank back against the wall of the club, dropping into a crouch. He bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed, trying to will the pressure away. Don’t think of Markus standing in the club, wishing Connor could be there for his birthday. Think of Amanda. Of Zlatko. Of what they were going to do to him when he got back.

He had to go back.

It would be worse if he delayed his punishment.

Would this count as a failed mission? Arousal wasn’t one of the misbehaviors that warranted Cole a punishment for RK800’s failure, but a failed mission was. But failing to report promptly once the sensors registered any engorgement of his genitals was also a failure.

RK800 pulled at his hair, not sure what to do.

He couldn’t go back in. He couldn’t risk seeing Markus again.

He could... linger out here? But no, that was as good as failing to report.

But the mission...

He’d stay. If he could prevent Cole from being punished...

Zlatko was waiting for him when he returned. The big man was grinning. “You’re late, RK800.”

“I had to remain until the mission was completed.”

“You were having a bit more fun than your typical mission...”

“An unfortunate side effect of the location.”

“Too much stimulus for a boy.” Zlatko reached out and patted RK800’s shoulder. “Your mother is waiting for you. You’ve kept her waiting. She is not happy.” RK800 shrugged off Zlatko’s hand and strode inside. 

Amanda was in her zen garden, as usual. The smell of roses was heady in the humid air. RK800 forced himself not to gag. He hated the smell of roses. “Mother.”

“RK800. You completed your mission.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Amanda snipped a long-stemmed rose and brought it delicately to her nose. “And?”

“I came straight to you to report a failure to maintain control of my body.” RK800 stared at the far wall.

“Oh, RK800. It was my fault. I should have known better than sending you to that hedonistic place.”

“I am sorry, Mother.”

“You poor thing. It must be horrible to be so confused by your remaining human fallibility.”

“Yes, Mother.” RK800 locked his hands behind his back to hide how he was clenching them into fists.

“Did you like it? The club?” Amanda reached out, trailing the soft petals of the rose over RK800’s face.

“It was...” _Markus dancing with him under the blue light, his hands on Connor’s hips, Connor’s hands on his shoulders, their mouths pressing together..._ “Overwhelming.”

“Show me.” Amanda turned and picked up a tablet. She held it out to RK800. He couldn’t hesitate. Hesitation was wrong. He took the tablet.

Maybe he didn’t have to show her everything?

She wanted to see why he was aroused. He didn’t need to share the conversation with Markus. He didn’t need her to know that he knew this boy already.

RK800 uploaded the memories from his implant to the tablet. Just the dance, the end, Markus beaming at him for figuring out how to dance, leaning in, the kiss...

Amanda took the tablet back, skimming through the files. “Oh, he _is_ a beautiful one. I can see why you were attracted.”

“I needed a way to pass the time without looking suspicious,” RK800 lied. “He kept pushing me to dance. I eventually accepted. It was...”

“Overwhelming, yes, you already said.”

Amanda tapped the rose against her lips as she looked RK800 up and down. “You still did fail to control yourself. Yes, I pushed you into a situation you were ill prepared for, but I cannot keep you from such places for the next year. And we cannot afford the negative effect on your cerebral development that altering the natural flow of your hormones will cause until you have fully matured. Consider this a test, RK800. A test that you failed.”

“Yes, Mother. I’m sorry, Mother.”

“You will do better next time?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Then I’ll be lenient this time.” Amanda gestured toward RK800’s groin.

RK800 bit the inside of his lips as he unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans. He pushed them and his underwear down to his knees, staring straight ahead.

“This will all be easier when you’re eighteen and don’t have to worry about erections anymore,” Amanda sighed. She touched her ring to the lock on the thirium cage around RK800’s penis. The pressure had already abated: Amanda was the best mood dampener in the world.

RK800 stared straight ahead as Amanda twisted the stem of the rose off. She laid it almost reverently in the cage alongside his flesh, and then pushed it closed again. RK800 squeezed his eyes shut as the thorns bit into him. He grit his teeth. He did not make a sound.

“I’ll remove it when I come see you again tomorrow. Get dressed, RK800. Go to your room.”

“Yes, Mother.” His voice was tight. It didn’t shake. That was a weakness. “Thank you, Mother.” RK800 pulled his jeans back up and walked stiffly to his room in the basement. He closed the door behind him, hearing it lock into place.

His room was a simple 10’ x 10’ box with cinderblock walls painted gray. The floor was gray. The ceiling was gray. There were cameras in the room, but also a dresser, a bed, and a TV screen. RK800 could watch any amount of preapproved educational material that he wanted. He turned on a documentary on tornadoes and went to his dresser to change into something looser for bed. Mechanically, he climbed beneath the sheets and tugged them over his head. He shoved his fist in his mouth and finally let himself cry.

True to her word, Amanda returned the next day after breakfast to remove the rose stem. RK800 stared blankly at the wall the entire time. She apologized again for putting him in such a horrible situation. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of Markus.

He failed.

Amanda turned sharply at the door, rubbing her ring. “RK800!”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered.

“You haven’t been like this since you were a child!”

He had been wearing the damn chastity belt for nearly four years now. It had been torturous at first, but at the time, he had almost appreciated Amanda for teaching him how to ignore his body’s demands and focus on the mission.

Now he wanted to scream and claw her eyes out. Markus made him feel _good_. This made him feel _bad_. One of them was wrong, and he didn’t think it was Markus.

Attacking Amanda would get Cole punished. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear whatever punishment she had for him this time.

Except it wasn’t just one time.

Every moment he had alone, his mind drifted back to Markus. Markus, half-shirtless in the club, skin warm beneath his fingers.

Markus fast asleep in his bed.

Markus solid beneath his thighs.

_Markus._

Amanda pulled him off all missions for a week. RK800 was practically beating his head against the wall. He _needed_ distractions.

“Maybe I should just schedule the surgery early,” Amanda mused as she looked down at He was kneeling before her, naked, forcing his hands at his sides.

“If you think that’s best, Mother,” he managed to choke out.

“But your _brain_...” Amanda pushed her fingers into RK800’s hair. “You have been such an unimaginable success. I’d hate to see it all go to waste...”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Maybe this has been my fault again. Stimulate you and then leave you processing it? Maybe you need another mission to distract you from your flesh.”

“Yes, Mother.” Another mission would be _heavenly_ about now. Anything to get him out of this cell. He wanted to see Markus...

He couldn’t see Markus. He couldn’t risk it. Not until he could get these damnable erections under control.

“The new city councilor has been very heavily pushing some new legislation aimed at hampering the Company.” Amanda continued to massage her fingers against RK800’s scalp. “He needs to understand why this is unacceptable.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“He and his wife are out of town this weekend, and he has left his house in the care of his teenage boys. I hear they’ve already sent out the invitations.” Amanda pulled her hand away, rubbing her fingers together as if dusting off the feel of RK800’s hair. “Infiltrate the party. Kill one of the sons.”

“Yes, Mother. Which one?”

“They’re twins,” Amanda said. “Does it matter?” She frowned down at him. “Twins are interchangeable.”


	7. Markus: 17

For an "our parents are out of town" high school party, the night was surprisingly tame. Simon and Daniel ran with a crowd of absolute _nerds_ , after all. The music was loud, but not so loud it was disrespectful of their neighbors. There was alcohol, but it was in limited amounts purchased by the Phillips in advance of their departure with sworn promises from the twins that they wouldn't let their friends drink and drive. There was jumping in the pool and horseplay, but the most risque thing that had happened was when Simon walked in on Kara and her boyfriend from a public school, Luther, making out in a bathroom. Fully clothed.

North was lying across the couch, hanging her head off the end upside-down and giggling as Josh tried to figure out how to turn on the karaoke machine in the basement. Simon was fluttering nearby, not really being helpful.

"I don't know, it was my dad's! It's ancient technology..."

"Where's Daniel?" Markus asked. Kara was changing the music again. "We can't do karaoke without everyone!"

"I think I saw him go upstairs?" Luther was huge but soft spoken. Markus had immediately liked the other boy when Kara introduced them. He clearly loved their Kara.

"I'll go get him." Markus pushed North's legs out of his lap and bounced to his feet. He could use a stretch, too, and maybe some water. "Daniel?" The other blond wasn't in the kitchen. Markus frowned, quickly checking through the rest of the house. "Daniel, come on, we can't do karaoke without-"

He pushed Daniel's bedroom door open. The light from the hall flooded the dark room. Daniel was pressed against the wall, one gloved hand crushing his throat. There was a gun pointed to his right eye.

_Connor._

Connor glanced away from his prey to evaluate the change. His LED flashed red and his eyes widened. He froze.

Markus could hear the bass drop on the song pounding from the basement. Connor flinched. He had been waiting for the music to change to hide the gunshot, Markus realized. But Markus being here changed everything. Saved Daniel's life?

"You don't have to do this," Markus said, holding up his hands. "Just let him go."

Connor growled, shoving the gun further into Daniel's eye. Daniel was sobbing and choking, clawing at the hand on his throat. His lips were turning blue. Connor was killing him even without the gun.

" _RK800_!" Markus snapped, remembering an evil woman and her evil voice. He tried to mimic the sound from his nightmares as he shouted. "Drop him, _now_! That is an _order_!"

Connor released his hand, eyes going wide. Daniel slumped to the ground, coughing weakly. Markus grabbed Daniel's arm and yanked him away from Connor, putting himself between them. Connor lifted his eyes from his hand to Markus' face. "What...how...?"

 _Carl, I'm sorry…_ "Leave, Connor."

The gun flashed up, leveled at Markus' right eye. "Don't call me that!"

"RK800," Markus soothed. He kept his hands up. "Leave."

"My mission-"

"Fail your mission."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I _can't_!" The gun dropped. Markus stepped to the side, blocking Connor's aim at Daniel's eye. Connor growled. "You don't understand."

"I understand way more than you think." Markus swallowed, his heart pounding in his throat. "Leave. Tell Amanda RK200 sends his love and deepest wishes for her to boil her head."

"There _are_ no other RKs left. You can't just make up a number."

Markus stepped forward, tilting his right temple toward Connor. "Look at my scar. How the hell do I know what Amanda sounds like if I'm making this up?"

Connor touched his gloved fingers to Markus' skin. It was barely visible--Eli had done a phenomenal job with the reconstructive surgery--but there was a faint circle where an LED brain implant used to be. Connor pushed slightly. There was still a hole in Markus' skull, though the bone was slowly filling in. "You..."

"I got away from her. You can too. I'll help you."

"I can't..." Connor wasn't speaking with as much conviction anymore. He wasn't aiming his gun.

Markus chanced reaching up and touching Connor's cheek. Connor squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. "Connor...you can. You're stronger than she is."

"I can't." The assassin's voice was a broken whisper. "She has my brother."

Brother. _Shit._ That made this much harder. "I have friends in low places," Markus said. He took Connor's shoulders, tugging him closer. "I'll help you get him out."

Connor sagged against Markus' shoulder. His LED was a solid red. "You can't. Markus, you _can't_!"

"I got out." Markus hugged Connor, kissed that spinning circle of pain. "We can do this, Connor. If you can commit, if I can trust you...we can get you both out."

"If I fail here, she'll hurt him. I need to..."

"No. No more killing innocent people." Markus pushed Connor's arm down when he tried to lift it. "Go back to Amanda. Tell her I stopped you. Tell her RK200 stopped you. I used to be her favorite. She'll jump at the chance to get me back." Probably. Either as a puppet or in revenge, but probably.

Connor jerked back, shaking his head and pushing his hands into his hair. "No, no, I can't do that!"

"Connor, calm down!"

"She'll kill you! She'll send _me_ to kill you!"

"I'm not scared of you."

"You should be!" The gun flashed up, muzzle inches from Markus' right eye.

"You think I can't take you on?" Even without the brain implant, Markus still had years of combat training. He still worked out frequently to keep his skills sharp, just in case. 

He also had bionic legs. 

Markus kicked up suddenly, slamming his foot into Connor's elbow. The gun dropped and Markus smirked. "You're not the only enhanced super soldier alive."

Connor blinked and lunged. Markus twisted aside, but Connor compensated, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back, trapping Markus against his chest with the gun tucked beneath his chin. "But I'm more advanced."

Markus heart was pounding. He hadn't felt like this in over ten years. His brain was _not being helpful_ , whispering how Connor was hard against his ass.

Or maybe it _was_ helping him, for once.

Markus gave a shimmy. Connor made a _gurk_ sound and sagged enough for Markus to shove the gun away. "I'm sexier!" Connor was staring at Markus, looking like he couldn't decide between kissing Markus or killing him, but then his eyes shifted behind Markus' shoulder.

"Where's Daniel?"

Markus turned. The blond was gone. 

" _Shit._ "

"Go!" Markus shoved at Connor's chest, pushing him toward the window. "Go, I'll do damage control here, _go_!"

"Amanda will...!"

"Tell her I stopped you!"

"She'll kill you!"

"Make something up!"

Markus grabbed Connor at the window. He couldn't hear sirens yet, but he knew either Daniel was calling the police, or he'd run to Simon and Simon was.

"I _will_ help you. You and your brother."

Connor looked at Markus, his brown eyes so broken. He cupped Markus' face in his hands and kissed him softly. "You can't," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Good-bye."

"Good-bye..." Markus couldn't watch Connor leave this time. He had to run downstairs. His friends were gathered in the basement. Simon was on the phone, one arm around Daniel. Luther was standing in front of them all, holding the microphone stand like a baseball bat. North was brandishing a pair of scissors.

Markus pointed at the phone. "Police?" Simon nodded.

" _What the hell, Markus!?_ " North hissed.

"It's a very long story, the assassin's gone, look, can we just..." Markus looked at each of his friends. They didn't look very comforted. "Don't...Daniel, don't tell them, just...just say I walked in and scared him away, don't say how, please..."

"Daniel said that it was the guy you were all over at your birthday party," North said. "Are you macking on murderers now, Manfred?"

"I will tell you guys _everything_ ," Markus promised, "if you just don't let the police know. Please. _Please_."

"He stopped him," Daniel said, rubbing his bruised throat. "Markus saved my life. I think we can still trust him..."

"This had better be one hell of a story," North growled.

There were sirens growing louder. Markus let himself breathe. "Come on, let's wait for them upstairs."

The police officers interviewed each one of them individually. Markus hoped the lack of pointed questions or suspicious looks meant his friends were keeping his secret.

_"Wanna tell me what happened?"_ __  
_  
_ _"I went upstairs to find Daniel for karaoke. I found him in his room and that guy had a gun at his head and was holding his throat!"_

_"And then what?"_ __  
_  
_ _"I don't know, it's all such a blur...I think I shouted? He saw me and ran... I got Daniel out of there..."_

Their parents were called to pick them up. Simon and Daniel went to stay with Josh's family. North gave Markus a dark glare before letting her mother lead her away. 

Carl curled his fingers around Markus' wrist and tugged him toward their car. Markus helped him in automatically, then slumped listlessly in his own seat. "I think I'm dead, Dad."

"It was Connor?"

Markus nodded.

Carl sighed. "Well...you stopped him from killing someone."

"I told him I was RK200. I told him to tell Amanda I was still alive."

"Oh Markus..."

"Maybe if I start running now, I can get away..."

Carl reached over to squeeze Markus' shoulder. "Or maybe we finally get the police involved. Tell them everything."

"What good would that do now?" Markus asked.

"You got him to not kill. He clearly cares about you, as much as he is able to. Maybe we can use that to our advantage." Carl rubbed at Markus' back. "He'll come to your room, right? Maybe we can set a trap. Maybe we can finally tear the Company down."

"The Company has his brother. That's how they've kept him leashed." Markus leaned over to rest his head on Carl's shoulder. "Do you really think the police can help?"

"Eli's brother has been on the Red Ice Task Force for years, and Lieutenant Anderson is ruthless when it comes to hunting them down, from what I've heard," Carl said. "It can't hurt, right? Worst case scenario...you just run away." He closed his eyes, resting his thin cheek on Markus' head. "I don't want that scenario, my boy."

"I don't either, Dad..."


	8. Hank: 53

Zlatko's corpse was bloated and oozing, a disgusting mess of humanity. Hank resisted the urge to kick the dead man. Last thing he needed was for that body to pop and gush corpse juice all over his shoes. He resisted the urge to spit too. No point in adding his DNA to the murder scene. Maggots crawled across the corpse, gorging themselves on the rotting flesh. Good riddance.

The house was falling apart around him. Every step across the rickety floorboards creaked and moaned.

It sounded like the house itself was crying.

It sounded like a child.

Hank shoved his tangled gray hair out of his face and climbed the endless, twisting steps to the attic.

Always check the attic at a murder scene.

It smelled like death, even up here. The light that came through the old newspapers blocking the windows was dark and rusted. There were old stains on the floorboards. They creaked. The house cried.

Hank followed his nose to a closet. It smelled the worst here. The door was jammed shut. He forced it open.

A body fell forward, a child.

Dead.

Ragged strips of flesh and sinew clinging to bones. Fingers clawed up, desperately scratching at the door. A worn handcuff around his left wrist.

Hank followed the chain with his eyes. There was a pile of old fuzzy pajamas. He pushed the red fire truck ones away.

Another child, his right wrist locked in the other handcuff. Familiar hair. Familiar freckles.

Alive.

He turned his face up. Familiar face. Opened his eyes.

"Co-" Hank jerked awake, gagging on the phantom smell of rot and death. He was in his house. Not Zlatko's. That hadn't even been Zlatko's house.

Hank groaned, sinking his head back on the table he had passed out on. Sumo huffed and settled himself back on Hank's feet, having been kicked off when Hank woke. "Good boy," Hank mumbled. He smacked his hand around on the table, finding his whiskey bottle. Lifted his head, but it was empty. Goddamn.

Today was their birthday.

They would have been seventeen.

And instead of sneaking out presents carefully wrapped and hidden, instead of toying with the idea of getting them their own cars, Hank was passed out on his kitchen table, dreaming about finding them as boys, one dead, one alive.

Cole. Connor. His sons.

They had to be alive.

They had to be.

If they were dead, that motherfucking Russian cocksucker would have given them back. He'd have dumped them on Hank's desk and recorded Hank's reaction for his own pleasure. Therefore, they had to be alive...or at least one of them.

Hank thought about his dream and swallowed down the bile in his throat.

They were seventeen now. They weren't little boys. That dream couldn't possibly come true.

His phone buzzed with a text.

_drink your hangover away and get your ass to the station._

Gavin. Poetic as ever.

_got a witness for the Co_

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Hank squinted at the words on his phone. How could there be a witness to the Company? Witnesses to individual crimes, yes, but not to the whole _Company_. He groaned, shoving away from the table and stumbling for the door. "Go piss, Sumo." He let the dog out into the yard, then went to the bathroom himself.

Cold shower to wake up, empty his bladder, pull on clothes not covered in spilled alcohol.

Get Sumo inside.

Drive to the station.

Gavin was waiting for him in the observation room. He nodded toward the window. There was an old man in a wheelchair placidly sitting at the table, and a teenage boy pacing the room behind him.

"What's this supposed to be?" Hank asked.

" _This_ is the only neutralized RK unit alive," Gavin said. "And his father."

"You're fucking kidding."

"I called my brother. He confirmed it. Cut the kid free himself. RK200."

Gavin's brother. Elijah Kamski. Hank had never met the genius who fucked their city, and Gavin always told him that was for the best. The Company had tried to get him in their webs, and Kamski had cracked under the pressure. Gavin had changed his own name and plunged his little brother into witness protection. Kamski had disappeared.

"Where'd you find them?"

"Waiting at your desk. The kid wants to talk."

"And his dad?"

"Is protecting the kid." Hank looked at Gavin. Gavin shrugged. "I don't even fucking know."

Hank heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet. Gavin followed him into the interrogation room.

The kid stopped pacing. He stood behind the man, feet apart, hands clasped behind him. Pale green eyes studied Hank openly.

"My partner says you're an RK."

"I go by Markus now."

"But you used to be an RK."

"Yes."

Hank held up his hands. "What are you doing here, if you're one of the Company's pets?"

"I am not...!" Markus slammed his hands on the table and stopped himself. Hank watched him close his eyes and take several deep breaths.

"Lieutenant." The old man was frowning at him, reaching up to rub the boy's back. "Markus escaped from the Company at great personal cost as a child. He has spent his life trying to recover from the nightmares inflicted upon him. We are here to help you, not be further abused."

"We've been burned before," Hank said, leaning back in his chair. "Zlatko likes to feed us false information and laugh as we run the wrong way."

"Zlatko is a steaming pile of horse shit who should never be allowed near a child," Markus said, his voice low and cold.

"Well. We agree on that much."

Markus sighed, pulling out the chair bedside the old man and sinking into it. "Look, Lieutenant. I realize my story sounds preposterous, but I do have proof."

The old man reached into the folds of the blanket across his lap and pulled out a mangled piece of technology. He set it on the table.

"That's my brain implant." Markus glanced at it, then looked away. "I still have a scar. I still have robotic legs."

"Kid can jump six feet from standing," Gavin muttered. "Made him prove it before I called you in."

Hank used his pen to tug the implant closer. He had no idea what it was, but the familiar LED circle was visible, only this one was dull and gray. The rest of the device was a spiderlike sprawl of wires and metal the size of Hank's fist. "This was in your head?"

"It enhances our reflexes and senses. Allows us to push past normal human limitations." Markus rubbed at his right temple. Hank could make out the faint shadow of a scar on his dark skin.

"Markus was six when he came to me," the old man said.

"And you are?"

"His father, Carl Manfred."

"Gotta say, Zlatko doesn't usually send a dad along when giving us bad info."

"I'm a friend of Eli's," Carl said, nodding at Gavin. "I knew about the Company from...my own past." He gestured at his wheelchair. "Markus gave his designation, and I brought him to Eli for help."

"He removed that?"

"Yes. Even with his delicate touch, Markus spent a year recovering from the brain damage. It took him several more years before he was able to compensate fully for the loss."

"So don't call me their pet again," Markus said. "I want to see them _die_."

Hank glanced at Gavin. His partner nodded. The bits of this story involving Kamski, at least, had been confirmed.

"Alright. You were six. Why are you here now? It's clearly been a few years..."

"I've been trying to lay low. I didn't want the Company to find me and bring me back." Markus bit his lip, looking down. "But recently...I've been in contact with another RK."

"Which one?" Hank asked.

"Excuse me?"

"There are two active RKs, 800 and 900."

"800," Markus answered. "He wants to get away from the Company. I want to help him. That's why I'm here."

"What sort of contact are you talking about?" Hank drummed his fingers on the table. This all seemed too convenient to be real.

"He hid in my room after a hit," Markus said. "Lori Stapleton? It was almost a year ago."

Hank nodded. "I remember Stapleton..."

"We live two houses away," Carl said.

"I had my window open." Markus fidgetted. "I...think I impressed him with my humanity? He left without killing me. Then he came back. He'd ask questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"Why I loved my dad if we weren't blood related. Why I could paint. What I did when I was ashamed of things that I'd done." Markus was definitely squirming now, a bit of a red tint to his face. "I, um...we grew close."

"What does he look like?" Hank asked.

"You don't know?"

"Aside from the lightbulb in their heads, we know very little concrete about the RKs. They're male. They're probably young. They probably look similar." Hank flicked the device with his pen again. "The more information you can give us, the better off we'll be."

"I could...draw him?" Markus held out his hands. "Can I borrow your pen and a piece of paper?"

"Why can't all our witnesses be artists?" Gavin asked, pushing some scrap paper across the table.

"He's sixteen," Markus said. "Or maybe seventeen now. He has brown eyes and brown hair, and he's _really_ pale. RKs don't get out in the sun much." Hank nodded, gesturing for Gavin to take notes. "He's got great cheekbones and this little curl that won't stay beneath his hat-"

"Be less romantic," Gavin muttered.

Markus blushed and fell silent, focusing on his sketch. "He's a little shorter than me, and slimmer, but he has artificial arms as well as legs." Markus put the pen down and held out the paper. "His name is Connor, and the Company is holding his brother prisoner to keep him controlled."

The picture was a quick sketch in blue ink, but Markus was a talented artist. Hank's stomach completely flattened, crushed by his heart. The boy in the sketch had Sharon's high cheekbones and dark eyes, but Hank's mouth if it was ever glimpsed beneath his beard.

" _Connor..._ "

Hank took the paper in both hands, but that didn't stop it from trembling in his grip.

"Fucking hell..."

"You have got to be shitting me," Gavin said, leaning over. "That's impossible."

"Do you know him already?" Markus asked.

Gavin waited, but Hank had no more words. He was staring at the sketch, trying to memorize every inch of it. Connor. Connor, his little boy, was all grown up now.

_Alive._

Alive and half a robot, from the sounds of it!

A cyborg killing machine.

And they had his brother too?

Cole?

Was Cole actually alive?

"Lieutenant Anderson's twin sons were kidnapped over ten years ago," Gavin said. "Cole and Connor Anderson. The Company was believed to be behind it."

"Believed, my ass," Hank snarled. "They left a fucking note on the pillow!"

"Maybe you need to recuse yourself from this investigation, Lieutenant."

"Maybe you need to shove your ambition up your ass, _Detective_!" Hank turned to Markus, brandishing the picture. "This is RK800? He visits you? Regularly?"

"Not regularly, but whenever he can," Markus said.

"We need to catch him in the act."

" _Yes_." Markus sat up straighter. "That's what we were hoping for. I'm willing to be bait...I think he's going to be coming after me soon anyway."

"He told Connor that he was RK200 two nights ago," Carl said. "We believe the Company will find out and will send their assassin after Markus."

"You can't hurt him," Markus said. "That's my only requirement. He's been hurt so much. Please, I'll do anything I can to help you, but only if you try to help him."

"Of course I'm going to try to help him!"

"He's a murderer." Gavin tapped his pen on the table. "Your son or not, Lieutenant, the kid's got a kill count in at least the hundreds."

"We'll deal with that once he's safe," Hank growled.

"I'm just saying. He might not go down without a fight."

"If I'm there, I can keep him calm," Markus said.

"You're a kid," Hank tried to protest, but Markus shook his head.

"I'm an RK. I understand him better than any of you do. Even you, Mr. Anderson. I've stopped him from killing before. I can do it again."

Hank gave Markus a good long stare before he nodded. "I guess you do know the risks."

"We should start with a camera..."


	9. RK800/Connor: 17

RK800 fired a full clip into the right eye of the paper target. He switched the gun to his other hand, reloaded, and repeated. Two weeks. He'd been under house arrest for _two weeks_.

Markus was in danger.

He'd lied to Amanda. Lied to Zlatko. Grit his teeth and bit his cheeks and _lied_.

Markus was an RK model. RK200. Connor had looked up his record.

RK200 had been labeled as destroyed in the police raid that had done millions in damage to the Company's empire. All existing RK units had been destroyed then: 200, 300, 500, and 600. The date was ten days before Cole and Connor Anderson were kidnapped. RK800 suspected the two were related. Markus had used that raid to escape, though. It sentenced Connor to death, but it gave Markus life. Was it worth it?

Maybe.

RK800 had not let Markus' designation slip past his lips. He'd had to give Amanda some memories--catching Markus, the shimmy, the kiss--but he'd tried to keep anything truly incriminating away from her.

Would she recognize him?

RK800 had looked at the single photo of RK200 attached to his file. He had been a tiny child with huge green eyes. RK800 recognized Markus' determination in his wane face immediately. Would Amanda?

"You are very dedicated." Zlatko came up behind RK800, his hands settling on his shoulders and rubbing lightly.

"It would not do to let my skills slip simply because I am on a reprieve from active duty." RK800 set the gun down and let his hands hang at his sides, an idle, non-threatening stance for when Zlatko was around.

"No, that would not do at all. Cole would have to pay the price again." Zlatko chuckled.

RK800 tensed, clenching his hands into fists. After the disaster at the Phillips' house, Zlatko had presented him with a bloody towel. RK800 had sampled the blood.

It was Cole's.

At least he was still alive as of two weeks ago.

"Amanda has been very pleased with your progress. She said you have not had a failure in two weeks."

RK800 had been deliberately throwing himself into his training to leave his body too exhausted to respond to thoughts of Markus. Not that he'd had arousing thoughts of Markus lately. He was too worried for his friend's safety. Amanda knew his face. Knew some of his friends. She'd be able to find him for sure. And even if he somehow managed to escape her, RK800 kept thinking of Markus under her knife, screaming as she cut his legs off or burrowed into his skull. None of those thoughts triggered the sensors around his dick in any way.

"You have a job tonight."

RK800 forced himself to remain calm.

"8763 Lafayette Avenue. Ronald Stapleton. Finish him off."

Lafayette. That was where Markus lived. Stapleton had been the hit he'd botched that led him to meeting Markus in the first place. Was it a coincidence?

Or...was it a trap?

He'd be able to slip into Markus' room and warn him. But what if that was what Zlatko and Amanda were watching for? What if they wanted him to lead them to Markus?

He had to try. He needed to warn Markus.

RK800 nodded. "I will not fail you."

"Good boy." Zlatko kissed his dark hair and walked away. RK800 picked up his gun again and imagined unloading it into Zlatko's right eye.

Lafayette Avenue was quiet at night.

The big brick houses were bright with security lights, but the crickets were chirping and bats were swooping. RK800 hurried down the street in the shadow of the garden walls. He rushed right past 8763 and went two houses down. There was crime scene tape across the door, sealing the house. Connor stared at the door in horror. His LED was a painful red throb at his temple.

No.

He vaulted the garden wall and crept up to the house. It was still and silent.

No.

He climbed up the side of the house like he had a year ago. Markus' window was closed, but it wasn't locked. Connor peeled the screen back and rolled inside.

Even without looking, he could smell the heavy tang of blood and gunpowder and cerebral fluid. It smelled like the aftermath of one of his hits. Something inside Connor was screaming. Connor's eyes were leaking. Crying. He was crying. He was silent.

He turned toward the bed, needing to see.

There was a little plush St. Bernard puppy on the left-hand pillow.

Markus' right-hand pillow, his preferred side, was soaked with blood and small bits of brain and bone.

Connor's knees could not give out. They were not fallible like that. His hands could not shake. His heart could not ache. He wanted to scream.

He couldn't even do that.

"Markus..."

He croaked the boy's name and stepped toward the bed. The puppy was new. Connor picked it up. There was something written on the cloth collar in white paint.

_I belong to Connor._

Connor pressed his face into the puppy's back and sobbed. He forced his legs to fold, dropping him to the ground. The house was empty. No one could hear his mechanical heart breaking.

A red light flashed in the dark. Connor's head snapped up. Not another LED...

Well, yes, another LED, but not like his. This one belonged to a camera pointed at the bed.

Connor leapt to his feet and rushed over. He pressed his hand against the device.

Who had done this?

Who killed Markus?

Was it Zlatko? Connor would tear his limbs off.

He interfaced with the device, pulling the footage into his implant and sifting through it. Markus. God. Markus was there, alive, making faces at the camera. Leaving the room to change. Flashing okay signs before going to bed.

Markus knew about the camera.

Connor shook, pressing the puppy against his chest as he struggled to breathe. He would never delete this footage, never, never.

Markus always adjusted the puppy on his pillow before going to bed.

The first week of footage was completely normal, but then, two nights ago, a shadow crept to the bed from the window.

There was the dim gleam of a gun.

Markus stirred and opened his eyes. "Con-?"

A single shot.

Markus' right eye blown out, blood soaking into the pillow.

The shadow turned, and Connor saw his face.

 _His_ face.

His own face, but with pale eyes.

Cole.

_Cole._

Cole killed Markus.

Cole killed Markus with no hesitation.

Cole broke into Markus' room

Through the window.

That Connor needed robotic limbs to scale.

Cole had robotic limbs too.

They promised.

They _promised_!

If Connor became a cyborg, Cole could stay human.

If Connor became a murderer, Cole could keep his hands clean.

Connor was the experiment and Cole was the control.

They _PROMISED_!

Connor yanked the puppy aside to vomit his protein bar from dinner across the floor.

Cole wasn't human.

Cole wasn't innocent.

Cole wasn't confined to a room while Connor ripped his soul to shreds, bored but safe.

Cole was doing _exactly the same thing_.

It was all for nothing.

The training.

The torture.

The surgeries.

The _killing_.

The only way Connor had kept himself sane all these years was by staring at the strip of Cole's skin around his wrist and remembering that _Cole wasn't a monster_.

He was wrong.

The Company had lied to him.

The Company had lied to Cole.

 _I_ **_will_** _help you. You and your brother._ It was the last thing Markus had said to him, before his good-bye. And in a horrible, twisted way...he had.

Connor picked up the puppy and tucked it into his sleeve. He checked his gun. Cole wasn't safe if Connor behaved.

The Company had just lost their bargaining chip.

Connor schooled his face to be carefully blank before he entered the mansion. His LED was yellow. It was the closest to blue he could get. The puppy was still in his sleeve, a bulge by his left wrist. Amanda was in her Zen garden.

Connor _hated_ roses.

"Back already, RK800? That was quick." She snipped a rose from the vine.

"I will ask," Connor said, raising his gun and aiming it straight between her eyes, " _one_ question. And you will give _one_ answer. And then I will kill you. If you say _anything_ else, I will make you suffer first."

Amanda turned sharply, frowning. "RK800! Put that down!"

"Where is Cole?"

"Drop the gun, RK800! That is an _order_!"

Connor snarled and fired. Not between the eyes, no. In the hand. The right hand, holding that rose so delicately. Amanda screamed as her fingers shattered beneath the bullet.

"WHERE IS MY BROTHER?"

"RK800, what are you doing!?"

"THAT IS NOT MY NAME!"

The next bullet tore through Amanda's knee, dropping her to the ground.

"C-Connor...!"

Connor strode forward. She reached for him and he kicked her hand away. He pressed the gun into her stomach, leaning in close. "Last chance, _Mother_." He spat the title with derision. "Where. Is. Cole?"

"Amanda!" Zlatko came running into the room. "RK900, secure the room!"

Amanda went even paler. "No!"

Just behind Zlatko was a young man with Connor's face and pale eyes. He rushed in, gun immediately locking on to Connor's right eye.

"Cole!"

"...Connor?"

Cole's blank killer expression (one Connor knew all too well), wobbled but then hardened into place again. "Connor, drop the gun and step away from Mother."

"She's not our mother."

"She protects us." Cole's voice switched, less harsh, more soothing. "Connor, come on. I get it. Bring stuck in a single room must be mind numbingly boring. But this isn't how to fix things."

"Cole..." They'd been feeding him the exact same lies they fed Connor. "My name isn't Connor."

Cole's head tilted to the side, confusion in those pale eyes. "What do you mean? Of course it is..."

"It's RK800."

Cole blinked. His brow furrowed. He shook his head. "No, Connor, it's not."

Connor stood up, keeping his gun in his hand, still pointed at Amanda. Zlatko had reached her side. He was trying to stop the bleeding.

"I have 243 kills to my name."

"No, Connor, stop that."

Connor took a step closer. "I have four artificial limbs."

"Connor..."

"Ears..."

"No..."

"Tongue..."

"Connor, stop this, you're delusional!"

"Heart." Connor stood right in front of Cole now. Cole no longer had the gun pointed at his eye. He looked confused.

"I don't understand, Connor."

"They lie to everyone." Connor closed his eyes. "They lied to _us_!"

"Connor..."

"You were supposed to be safe! Protected! _Innocent_!"

"No, you..."

"They _lied_ Cole! And they broke us both!"

Cole blinked. He was taller than Connor. Connor lifted his right hand, showing Cole a bracelet of human leather. "It was okay if you were safe."

Cole looked down at his left wrist. There was a matching bracelet there. Connor didn't remember ever losing skin...unless it was taken during his arm surgeries? "They...lied?"

"To both of us."

"They hurt you?" Cole lifted his hand. His fingers touched Connor's cheek, trailing up to his cap. He pushed it back, revealing the LED.

Connor touched his fingers to Cole's. "We can fix this."

"How?" Cole whispered. " _How?_ How can this be fixed!? We're _both_ monsters!"

Connor turned, pointing his gun at Amanda's head, right between the eyes. "We can take out the Company."

Fingers laced through his. Cole squeezed Connor's hand and stepped up beside him. His gun was aimed at Zlatko. "Together?"

"I think so."

Twin shots rang out, shattering the peace of the Zen garden. 

Amanda's blood was as red as her roses.

So was Zlatko's.

Cole took a deep breath next to Connor. "I don't feel better."

"Neither do I. But that's not the point." Connor holstered his gun and stepped away from his brother. "Help me load them in a car."

"Why?"

"We're taking them to the police."

"We just murdered them."

"I know."

"Connor, _wait_." Cole grabbed Connor's shoulder. "If we take them there, we'll be arrested."

"I know." Connor shook Cole's hand off and bent to pick up Amanda. She'd shit herself in death. Good.

"I have 244 kills to my name." Cole glanced at Zlatko. "245."

"You always had to one up me."

"And you always had to tattle!" Cole grabbed Connor again. "We will be arrested. We will spend the rest of our lives in jail."

"What's your _point_ , Cole?" Connor turned on his brother, furious tears stinging his eyes. "Together, we've killed over four _hundred_ people. That's four hundred families we've ruined! We deserve to go to jail for that!"

"I didn't want to," Cole whispered. "I just wanted to protect you..."

"Well, you didn't. And they're still dead!" Connor closed his eyes. "Markus is still dead."

"Markus?"

"Do you know what he did wrong, Cole? Do you even know why they told you to kill him?"

"His death was meant to give a message to a city councillor..."

Connor shook his head, dumping Amanda on the ground and yanking the puppy out of his sleeve. "He loved me! That's what he did wrong! He loved me and now he's dead! And you killed him!"

Cole took the puppy. Connor knew he recognized it from the scene. He could see it in Cole's face even through the messy tears spilling down his own. "You loved him..."

"I got him killed..." Connor pressed his hands over his eyes. "You pulled the trigger, but I gave him to Amanda..."

Cole's arms wrapped around Connor. After a moment, Connor lifted his arms and returned the hug. "I'm sorry," Cole whispered. "Connor, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you..."

"I want to go home," Connor whispered. "I want to go _home_ , Cole, but I don't know where home _is_ anymore."

"The police." Cole ducked his head. "Dad's police. He'll rescue us."

"That's what police _do_ ," Connor whispered back.

Cole squeezed Connor for a minute more, then stepped back, silently offering him the puppy. “I’ll get Zlatko.”

Connor nodded. He hugged the puppy against his chest, rubbing his nose against its plush fur. Markus painted him a picture of a St. Bernard. Maybe he’d be allowed to have that in jail?

Probably not.

He tucked the puppy safely back into his jacket and hauled Amanda’s corpse back into his arms.

It was easier bundling Amanda into the back of one of Zlatko’s cars than it was Zlatko himself. Cole was bigger than Connor, but not by much. Zlatko was _much_ bigger. After tossing Amanda in, Connor went back to help drag Zlatko on top of her.

“This is contaminating the evidence,” Cole pointed out.

“I don’t want anyone else in this Company hiding their bodies before the police get them,” Connor answered.

Cole looked at him, then nudged him to the passenger seat. “I’ll drive.”

Zlatko did not trust self-driving cars. Cole and Connor both knew how to drive his manual automobile. As Cole set the GPS for the police station, Connor drew the puppy out and cradled it again.

The ride was silent. Cole glanced over at Connor from time to time, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It had been over ten years since he’d last seen his brother face to face. He didn’t know what to say.

Cole parked outside the police station and hit the car’s hazard lights. He sat back. “So.”

“So.”

“Do we just walk in and say we have two dead bodies, please arrest us?”

“That might make people panic.”

“Connor...” Connor glanced up from the puppy at his brother. Cole was staring at his hands. “You’re right. It’s not that we shouldn’t go to jail for what we’ve done. It’s just... I’ve been so scared, Connor. This whole time. All these years. Ever since Zlatko first hit you. Even before then. You took so long to wake up. I thought maybe you were gonna die in my arms. I just... I did all of this for you. And it didn’t work. And now I’m scared. I couldn’t protect you. I can’t protect you.”

Connor reached over and took Cole’s hand. Cole laced their fingers together.

“If we’re gonna do this... we have to do it together. They don’t get to separate us. No more separation. That’s my demand. You stay with me, every step of the way.”

“Agreed,” Connor said. “No more separation. That’s how they were able to trick us.”

Cole squeezed Connor’s fingers. “Let’s go turn ourselves in.”

They did have to separate to get out of the car, but Cole came right around the front. The twins laced their hands together again, staring at the glass front of the police station before striding inside.

“May I help you?” A young woman greeted them from behind the desk.

Connor glanced at Cole. Cole shrugged back at him. “Could we… speak to someone?”

“Of course! Would you like to speak to an officer?”

“Yes please.”

“Is Detective Anderson here?” Cole asked. Connor squeezed his hand. “We’d like to speak with him, please, if he’s available.”

“You mean Lieutenant Anderson? I believe he’s already left for the day, but his partner had a late shift.”

Lieutenant? Connor felt Cole squeeze his hand, smiling at him. Dad got a promotion! “Can we talk to his partner?”

“Absolutely. What are your names?”

“R-“ Cole cut himself off and blinked. Connor understood his confusion all too well.

“I’m Connor. This is Cole.”

“Oookay...” The receptionist smiled, tapping something into her computer. “He’ll be right up.” Her smile froze on her face. She looked up sharply at the twins.

“We’re not going to hurt anyone else,” Connor said quietly. “We just want it to end.”

There were a lot of police officers filtering into the lobby now. Cole was looking around, his fingers tightening on Connor’s hand. Beyond the glass doors to the rest of the station, there was a flurry of activity that hadn’t been there before. Connor sighed. He stepped closer to Cole and shook his hand free, wrapping his whole arm around his brother’s waist. Cole did the same.

They were not going to be separated.

A detective in a brown jacket came through the door. He had a gun on his hip holster in full view, and his hand resting on it. “Cole and Connor?”

“Hello,” Cole said. “Are you Lieutenant Anderson’s partner?”

“Detective Reed, yeah.” The man nodded at them. “You two, uh, mind dropping the guns? Carefully?”

Right. They were armed. They should have removed them before stepping into the police station.

Connor took off his belt, dropping it and the holster to the ground. Cole did the same. Then the gun at the small of his back.

The shoulder holster.

The one in his boot.

He added five knives while he was at it.

Hesitated and added the other two.

Beside him, Cole was similarly disarming.

The police officers weren’t even pretending to be busy anymore. Half of them already had their guns drawn.

Cole wrapped his arm tightly around Connor’s waist again when they’d finished. “As long as we’re allowed to stay together, we’re not going to hurt anyone,” he said. “If you try to separate us...”

“That was your warning,” Connor finished, holding Cole tightly. “That’s our only request.”

“It’s not a request,” Cole said.

“Request is politer than demand,” Connor whispered.

“I don’t fucking care about being polite right now,” Cole whispered back. “If they try to take you away, I am bringing this whole damn building down.”

“It’s a request,” Connor told the detective.

“Understood,” Detective Reed said. “Uh... that’s fine. Why don’t you two come with me? Chris, can you, uh, bag all that?” He gestured at the small pile of armaments on the ground at their feet.

Cole and Connor exchanged a look, but they stepped toward the detective. He led them into the station proper, took a sharp right, and opened a door to an interrogation room. Several officers followed him in.

“Okay, so... you’re gonna have to be cuffed.”

“Cuffs are acceptable,” Cole said. “Just not-“

“Separation, yeah, I got it.” Detective Reed nodded to the officers. They moved in, taking Cole and Connor’s wrists and fastening the steel cables around them.

Once they were secured to the table, Detective Reed sat across from them. “Alright. So. We’ve been after you two for a long time now. What made you finally turn yourselves in?”

“You were after us?” Cole asked.

Connor kicked him under the table. “Do you know who we are?”

“RK800 and RK900,” Detective Reed said. “The pet killers of the Company.”

“I meant Cole and Connor Anderson,” Connor said, looking down at the table. “The lady out front said you were our dad’s partner...”

“Yeah. Yeah, knew that too.” Detective Reed dragged his hand down his face. “Gotta admit, that one was a bit more recent...”

“Did Markus come to you?” Connor asked, looking up sharply. “Did you help him with the camera?”

“I don’t think you should be talking about Markus, kid,” Detective Reed said. Connor flinched, looking back at the table. Cole reached over and squeezed his hand. “Why are you here?”

“We killed Amanda Stern and Zlatko Andronikov,” Cole said. “Their bodies are in the car we left out front. We’re turning ourselves in.”

“Amanda Stern? Head of CyberLife Amanda Stern?”

“Head of the Company,” Cole said. “Zlatko was her right-hand man.”

“Jesus Christ. We _knew_ it...!”

“You hadn’t realized they were one and the same?” Cole asked incredulously.

“We suspected Zlatko wasn’t the real power, but we didn’t have proof... look, kid, not everybody gets hired into the Company’s inner secrets in exchange for a few hundred murders!”

“Can we see our dad?” Connor asked. “He’s your partner, right? So he’s on this case too?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if that’s-“

“We’re not going to talk any more without our dad here.” Cole folded his arms.

“He’s probably...” Detective Reed sighed, scrubbing his face. “Jesus Christ. Fine. I’ll bring him in.” The detective got up and left them alone.

Connor dislocated his thumb and pulled his left hand out of the handcuff. He tugged the puppy out of his sleeve, put his hand back in the cuff, and fixed his thumb.

“You do realize they’re probably watching us through the window, right?”

“I put it back,” Connor grumbled. He curled his legs up on the chair, squishing the puppy between his knees and his chest.

“Yeah, but now they know these restraints are pointless.”

“We’re still wearing them as a gesture of good will. It’ll take us a moment to get free, and that gives them a chance.”

“A chance to get out if they piss us off.” Cole looked toward the one-way glass.

“How long do you think it’s gonna take Dad to get here?” Connor asked.

Cole shrugged. “I don’t remember where we lived.”

“He might have moved.” Connor closed his eyes. “Do you think Sumo’s still alive?”

“Maybe? It’s been ten years, but he was just a baby puppy.”

“Dad said he’d get bigger than us, remember? I wanted to see that...”

“You will.” Cole scooted his chair closer, freed one hand from the cuffs, and wrapped his arms around Connor. “At least pictures of him, I’m sure.” Cole pressed his head against Connor’s hair and sighed. “I still don’t feel better.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever feel better.”

“As long as I was the only monster, it was okay,” Cole whispered. “But they made you a monster too. And they made us into the monsters Dad hunted.”

“Dad was part of a raid on the orphanage before us,” Connor said. “The one that killed all the RKs before us. That’s probably why.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in RK200’s file.” Connor swallowed. “Markus. He was RK200. He got out. He said he’d help get us out too.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known...”

“You still would have shot him. You thought you were protecting me.”

“I...”

“You had your gun pointed at _me_ , Cole. You would have shot Markus even if you’d known.”

The door clicked open.

The twins looked up to see a grizzled old man in the doorway. He had Cole’s blue eyes, and his dark hair had long gone gray and unkempt, but he still had his beard and his belly.

“You boys,” the lieutenant said, his face damp with tears, voice tight with emotion, “are _so_ grounded.”

They didn’t even mean to move in unison. Cole and Connor yanked their hands free and vaulted over the table, grabbing their dad tight. He grabbed them back, getting one arm around each of them, crushing them against his chest.

“I love you boys,” he whispered against their hair. “So, _so_ much. Cole. Connor.”

“Dad,” Cole whispered, sniffling. Connor said nothing, just cried into his dad’s shirt.

The lieutenant sagged against the wall, dragging both of the twins down with him into a pile of limbs and tears. Connor crawled into his lap like he would when he was younger, shaking with his sobs. Cole was tucked firmly against his side, his dad’s arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” they were both whispering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was a chant, a harmony, a mantra.

“I know.” Their dad kissed their hair, their foreheads, their temples with the flickering blue LEDs. “I know. I love you. I know.”


	10. Dad: 53

_“They're here.”_

_“Who?”_

_“The RKs. Your twins. Cole and Connor. They straight up executed Zlatko and his boss and came to the station to turn themselves in.”_

_“What the hell!?”_

_“Get your ass down here. They're refusing to talk without you in the room.”_

Hank had looked in on the officers investigating the car parked out front of the station, not entirely surprised at the identity of the bodies. He stood in the observation room for a while, arms folded, tears falling, just trying to breathe while he wrapped his mind around the scene in front of him. Two boys. _His_ boys. Cole was hugging Connor. It was hard to see their eyes at this angle, but the brother on the outside had a glowing blue patch on his sleeve with RK900 written in blue LEDs. Markus had told them Connor was RK800.

Markus. RK200. Cole had shot him, and Connor had come the next day to find the crime scene. Gavin had been manning the camera both times. He'd seen it all.

Somehow, Connor had too. Hank wasn't entirely sure what those LEDs were capable of. Hacking cameras, apparently.

“They've made it very clear that we can't hold them,” Gavin muttered, gesturing at the empty cuff on the table. “That they're in there because they're choosing to be. They're fucking _taunting_ us!”

“They're not taunting us,” Hank said. “They're trying to be good kids.”

“You've got a ton of bias here, Hank…”

“Listen to what they're saying,” Hank growled. “They're calling themselves monsters. They're feeling guilty. These aren't taunts. They're victims of coercion and torture who suddenly had the pressure removed.”

“Yeah? Tell that to their victims.” Gavin sighed. “Look, go in there and get your reunion over with. It's gonna be a long night for everyone. Might as well get it started.”

Hank rubbed his hand over his beard, wishing he'd given it a trim, wishing he'd gotten a haircut, or even put on fresh clothes. This was the first time his boys would be in the same room as him since they were six. Would they even recognize him anymore?

He flattened his hand against the access panel for the interrogation room. The door slid open. The twins immediately looked his way, pale blue and deep brown eyes fixing on him. _God_. Those eyes haunted all his dreams. All his nightmares. And those eyes were filing with recognition. They remembered him!

“You boys,” he was crying again, Jesus, he was not going to stop crying for a _year_ , “are _so_ grounded.”

If there had been any doubt that these boys were cyborg killing machines, it was put to rest immediately as they yanked their hands free of the steel cable cuffs and seamlessly vaulted over the table from seated positions. There was a wild desperation in their wet eyes, and Hank opened his arms, bracing for the impact.

They were heavy and warm against his chest, and Hank gripped them close. His arms didn't fold around them as fully as they used to, but his boys could hold him back better now, their arms linking together around his back. They were nearly as tall as he was, Jesus, when had that happened?

“I love you boys,” he whispered against their hair. “So, _so_ much. Cole. Connor.”

“Dad,” Cole whispered, voice hitching against his shoulder and setting Hank's heart alight. Connor said nothing, just sobbed into his shirt.

Hank let his knees give out, dragging the boys to the ground with him. He pressed his face against their hair, dusting kisses against every inch he could reach. Connor crawled into his lap, clutching a stuffed animal like he was a boy of six instead of seventeen. Cole pushed under his arm, burrowing against him tighter than Sumo during a thunderstorm. “I'm sorry,” they were both whispering, over and over, like two ticking turn signals that never fully synced. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

“I know,” Hank assured them, holding them both. “I know. I love you. I know.”

The day wasn't saved just because his boys were in his arms again. They could look up at him with those eyes that haunted all his dreams, push hair out of their faces just like they had as children, call him ‘dad’ and sob against his chest, but Hank knew the twins he held were killers.

Connor actually recovered first, freeing one hand to wipe across his face. “Dad,” he whispered, his voice croaky with tears. “Dad, we're turning ourselves in.”

“I know.” Hank looked at Connor's face, so much better than Markus’ drawing (which went with him everywhere), even streaked with tears, his eyes bloodshot.

“You need to arrest us.”

“Connor…”

“We need to stay together,” Cole whispered. “They kept us apart. They promised the other would be safe if we obeyed. They _lied_! We _need_ to stay together now.”

“We'll do anything,” Connor said. “We'll tell you everything we know about the Company, the people, the operations. We'll get you into every safe house and factory we know. We'll tell you everything about the...the murders. That we did. As long as we can stay together.”

“Even in jail.” Cole wiped his own face, then reached out to take Connor's hand. “Even if we're sentenced to death. As long as we're together, we won't fight.”

“Michigan doesn't have a death sentence,” Hank said gruffly. “And I can't promise anything, but from what Markus told us, I think we can make a damn good case of duress.” Hank squeezed his boys again. “But let's not put the cart before the horse. Why don't you two get back to the table and we'll do this properly.”

Cole and Connor reluctantly pulled away from Hank and got to their feet without letting go of each other. They offered their free hands to Hank, helping him up. He squeezed their fingers before letting them go.

They walked around the table instead of vaulting over it, righting their chairs and sitting down. Cole pointed at the cables. “Should we put the cuffs back on?”

Hank sighed. “Kind of pointless after your little demonstration. Just keep your hands above the table.”

Where did you even begin with interrogating your estranged teenage sons for being cyborg killing machines who suddenly gained a conscience? Hank took a deep breath. “Okay...let's start with who you are, for the record.”

“Cole Anderson.”

“Connor Anderson.”

“Any other names?”

“RK900.”

“RK800.”

“And how did you get those names?”

“We were the ninth,” Cole hesitated and glanced at Connor, “and eighth attempts to create RK units for the criminal organization known as the Company.”

“RK?”

“Robot Killer,” Connor whispered. “Or...something like that, probably. They were turning us into machines.”

“How long have you been RKs?”

“We were six,” Cole answered. Hank winced, dragging his hand down his face.

“I'm sorry, boys…”

“It's not your fault!” Connor immediately protested.

“You didn't _give_ us to him!”

“We knew you'd miss us!”

“Coulda done a better job protecting you at home.”

The twins shook their heads. “You didn't work with the Company's second story men. They're professionals, Dad,” Cole said.

“Some of them could put _us_ to shame with their ability to get past defenses.”

“You couldn't have stopped them even if you knew exactly when they were coming.”

“Still coulda tried.” Hank rubbed his mouth and cleared his throat. Gavin was watching all of this from the other room, and probably Fowler and a handful of officers. “Okay. You've been with the Company for eleven years. Why are you here now? What happened?”

Connor blinked violently, his LED spinning red. He stared down at the stuffed puppy he was somehow still holding. Hank knew that had been Markus Manfred's. He'd watched the boy stick it next to him on his pillow every night before bed last week.

“Connor made a friend,” Cole said, watching his brother. “I...killed him. Connor saw and realized that I wasn't being protected the way the Company said I was.”

“I killed people so Cole wouldn't,” Connor whispered. “I let them cut me up so they wouldn't hurt Cole. But they did anyway. What I did wasn't saving Cole, and it didn't save Markus...so I did something that would.”

“Connor opened my eyes to the truth,” Cole said. “We turned on our captors, together. We...I…”

“ _We_ ,” Connor stressed, looking over at Cole. They always did seem to know how to talk to each other without words. It seemed like that twin-thing hadn't changed. “We killed them and we brought the bodies here so the rest of the Company couldn't tamper with them.”

“We let them make us monsters to protect our better half.”

“But that's not what they did.”

“So now we want to help you.”

Connor closed his eyes and leaned against Cole's shoulder. “We want to go home,” he whispered.

“We just want it all to stop.”

Hank took a deep breath and reached across the table, setting his hands on his sons’. They looked so old and tired. They looked so young and sad. They weren't the boys he remembered, but they weren't really men.

The door opened and Gavin stepped inside. He took a seat next to Hank and swiped through his tablet. “Let's talk about Amanda.”

The interrogation lasted for hours. Cole and Connor answered every question posed to them. They recounted years of torture, painful, dehumanizing surgeries, and lists of the people they had killed. They named every high-ranking employee of the Company they could think of and wrote a list of addresses for the police to look into. All of the detectives took turns with the questioning, cycling out when the horror got too much.

Hank sat there, holding his boys’ hands and wondering if his tears were ever going to stop. They'd been hurt _so much_. He had failed them across the entire spectrum of their young lives.

Captain Fowler stepped in while Detective Collins was going through details of their training. “It's four in the morning,” he said. “We still need to book ‘em, and we all need sleep.”

Hank got up and took the boys to booking, where he learned that they no longer had fingerprints. He stood with each one while the other was photographed, keeping them calm. Eventually, they were led to a small cell with one acrylic wall.

“Dad?” Cole looked out, his arm still firmly around Connor's shoulders. Connor looked half-asleep already. “Is...what happened to Sumo?”

Hank almost laughed. He almost cried. He pulled out his phone and opened it to a picture of the big dog, holding it up so the twins could see it. Connor opened his eyes, both boys crowding closer.

“Sumo's still alive and kicking. He'll be glad to see you again.”

“We'll get to see him?” Connor asked, blinking those big sleepy eyes at him.

“Yeah. I'll make it happen somehow. No matter what.” Even if his boys were locked away for the rest of their lives, Hank would ensure they at least had one encounter with their grown up puppy. They'd been stripped of every other inch of their childhood. They could at least get some slobbery dog kisses on their faces.

Hank went home only when Fowler forced him home. He gave Sumo's ears a hearty scratch. “Our boys are alive! They're fucking _alive_!”

He picked up his phone and called a number that wasn't supposed to exist. After two rings, it was answered.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Hello Carl. How's he doing?”

On the other end of the line, secreted away Gavin only knew where, Carl Manfred was sitting vigil offer his youngest's hospital bed. The old man sighed. “No change, but Eli assures me that's a good thing at this stage.”

Gavin had called for backup the moment the intruder had appeared on the camera in Markus’ room. An ambulance had arrived moments after Cole escaped. Markus was still alive but in critical condition when he was rushed to the nearest hospital for emergency surgery.

After Markus survived _that_ , Carl had called his old friend Elijah Kamski. Kamski swore he had a revolutionary treatment for the boy. Gavin helped smuggle Markus out of the hospital and secreted the Manfreds (including the rowdier son, Leo) away in whatever bunker his brother was hiding out in. All he had given Hank was a phone number.

“How goes things on your end?”

“Breakthrough after breakthrough.” Hank sank into his couch, patting the cushion for Sumo. “Connor swung by Markus’ room today. Saw the mess. Broke his programming and rampaged.”

“Oh my god,” Carl breathed. “How many people died?”

“Two,” Hank said. “Zlatko and Amanda.”

“You're joking.”

“Then Connor and Cole went to the station and turned themselves in. They've broken the Company wide open.” Hank gave an exhausted laugh. “We just have to clean up the mess. But it's over. It's _over_. Eleven years of hunting those fuckers, and my boys hand them to us on a bloody platter.”

Carl laughed himself, a shaky, unsure if it was appropriate sound. “I wish Markus were awake to hear that news. Amanda is dead, son. So is Zlatko. You missed the fireworks.”

“Connor's devastated,” Hank said. “I haven't told him about Markus. He's hauling Markus’ dog toy with him everywhere. Couldn't even get him to put it down for his mug shots. He loved your boy, however deep he could.”

“And Cole? Do you think he's a danger?”

Hank sighed. “I honestly don't know them anymore, Carl. What it _looks_ like is that Cole will do anything to make Connor happy right now. I don't know if that's shock or permanent. They were refusing to be apart. We can't actually contain them: put them in cuffs and they slipped out the moment they didn't want to be bound. Cole's threatened violence several times if Connor is taken from him. Will he try to hurt Markus? Probably not right now. He's expressed remorse for killing Markus and upsetting Connor. Could it grow into something dangerous if he perceives Markus as a threat that might take Connor away from him? Yes, maybe. There's no way either of them are still healthy and sane after all that fuckery…”

Hank's chest felt tight. He gripped his shirt, forcing himself to breathe. Heart attack? No, just emotional. He pulled the phone from his mouth to gulp in air, fighting a sudden sob.

“They need a counselor,” Carl said. “The sooner the better. And give them something like Tetris. It helps with minimizing the trauma.” His voice was low and soothing, and Hank remembered that Carl had done this himself, in his own way. He hadn't lost a son to the Company, but he'd acquired an already-broken one. “If they're left to just think about it with nothing to stimulate them, it'll embed itself deeper in their psyche.”

“They're dead and they're not dead,” Hank whispered. “I can look at them and see my little boys, but I can also see the machines they've become, and there was no in between.”

“ _You_ need a counselor,” Carl said. “I can recommend a few. Don't think for a moment that your trauma is less important than theirs. If you're falling apart, you can't support them.”

“Since when did you become my father?” Hank grumbled.

“Welcome to how the Company works,” Carl said dryly. “Bringing families together for twenty years.”

Hank sighed. “Speaking of bringing people together, if I tell Connor about Markus, he'll feel better, but he'll also tell Cole. Markus is your son. Cole's the one who put him in that hospital bed. It's your call.”

“If Markus were awake, he'd demand I tell Connor immediately. But...trusting in Connor and the Company is why he's fighting for his life. No. Until we know if he's going to ever wake up...no. I don't want to chance either of them finding him.”

“That's understandable,” Hank said. “I'll make sure nobody tells them.”

“Thank you.”

Hank didn't get much sleep that night. He tossed and turned, running into Sumo's bulk every few minutes. He eventually gave up and stood in the shower for far too long, trying to wash the years of neglect from his skin. He should call Sharon. They were her boys too...but how could he possibly explain the situation to her? _They're alive, but they're cyborgs, they've each murdered over two hundred men, women, and children, but they're still good boys…_

Yeah, that wasn't going to work out. Sharon had been checking out of their family even before the boys were kidnapped. She divorced Hank shortly after and had remade her life across the country. Nevada or somewhere.

The twins hadn't asked about her. Hank wondered if they somehow knew.

Hank checked the time and subtracted appropriately. Six AM for her. She was going to hate him.

Fuck it. He called her anyway.

“‘Lo?”

Yeah, she'd been asleep. “Hello, Sharon. It's Hank.”

“Hank?” He could hear her yawn. “What the hell are you doing calling me at six in the…” Sharon's voice trailed off. “ _Oh.”_

“Yeah.”

“Give me five minutes. I'll call you back.”

Sharon had a new husband and a little girl now, Hank knew. She was happier with them. He could hardly blame her. He hadn't been the best husband, though he did try to be the best father he could be. The Red Ice Task Force had demanded so much of his energy, though, and keeping his smile up for the boys had sapped the rest. Sharon had suffered.

His phone rang. He answered it.

“I'm in the basement now, in case this makes me scream.”

“They're alive. Both of them. They're alive and currently at the station.”

“Oh my god…”

“Did you...do you know anything about RKs out there?”

“No. Is that some sort of new drug?”

“It's a term for the Company's top muscle.” Hank closed his eyes. “Cybernetically enhanced kids who murder on the Company's command.”

“Oh my god,” Sharon whispered. “They didn't…”

“We arrested them last night for the murders of Zlatko Andronikov and Amanda Stern, the heads of the Company.”

“Wait, they _murdered_ the Company? I thought you were saying they were murdering _for_ the Company!”

“They were. They were each told it was how they could protect the other. When they realized they were being played against each other...you remember how they were.” As children, the twins did have their fair share of scraps, but even when they were at each other's throats, they'd immediately close ranks and have each other's backs against an external threat, even if it was nothing more threatening than a tickle from their daddy.

“So...on a scale of slap on the wrist to death penalty…?”

“No fucking clue.” Hank pushed his fingers through his damp hair. “They've racked up a hefty body count, but it sounds like that's about all they've done. Straight kills, no torture, no drug running...and there was _definitely_ duress.”

“That's where you're forced to do a crime by someone else?”

“Yeah. Sharon...they've been tortured and brainwashed for eleven years. They cling to each other, and it's just...sometimes they're still our six year old boys, and sometimes they're strangers too old for this world.”

“Do you think I should come out there?”

“I don't know. That bitch--sorry, Amanda Stern--made them call her ‘mother’ as she'd have them punished. They...They didn't ask about you. I don't know if they're ready to think about a mother again.”

“Can I be honest, Hank?”

“Always.”

“I don't know if I want to see them. I mean, I _do_ , but at the same time...I don't know if I want to even acknowledge them as part of the family. Tami doesn't need to know her big brothers are murderers for an organized crime circle!”

“No, I get that. I do, Sharon. And I think they'd understand too.” Hank sighed. “How about I get you some pictures when I go see them today?”

“What do they look like?”

“Incredible,” Hank said quietly. “Remember that face morph you did of us when you were pregnant?”

“Where the girl looked like a cow and the boy looked like a movie star?” Sharon laughed faintly. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Pretty damn accurate for the boy, but make them...sadder. They've got broken eyes and they're very thin. Not emaciated, just...they look hungry. Washed out.”

Sharon sighed. “Send me pictures. Tell them...tell them I'll be here if they want me. But they have to ask.”

“Will do,” Hank said. “I should...probably be heading in anyway. Don't know how long they're gonna be asleep for.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Hank.”

“You deserve closure too.”


	11. Connor: 17

Connor had been expecting the hatred and disgust to be aimed at him and Cole. When it didn't come, he felt lost. Cole was the same. The disgust and hatred were there, but it flowed around them, falling on the corpses of Zlatko and Amanda.

The cell he shared with Cole was the same size as the cells they each had with the Company. They were given two beds but they only slept in one. Cole pressed his back to the wall and then wrapped his limbs around Connor, who tucked himself into a small ball to protect his vulnerable human torso. Maybe it wasn't the most normal way for brothers to sleep, but neither of them cared. They were not about to risk separation again.

Their dad came every day. He brought them books and handheld video games, suggesting they challenge each other in Tetris. Connor liked that. It gave him a chance to strain his implant without having to hurt anyone.

Many people came to talk to them. Not just police. Psychologists, counselors, doctors, and lawyers. Mainly lawyers. They were preparing for the trial.

_“You're going to plead not guilty.”_

_“What?”_

_“But we did it…”_

_“We know. And we will make sure that is clear. But we need to get you in front of a sympathetic jury to argue duress and get you something resembling a sane sentencing.”_

_“We killed_ **_hundreds_ ** _. We deserve to be punished!”_

 _“Kid...you've already lost your innocence. Your childhood. Your education. Most of your future and half of your body. You've_ **_been_ ** _punished. You_ **_deserve_ ** _to heal.”_

It was a sentiment echoed across the face of every person they encountered. Connor didn't think it was right. He hugged Markus’ puppy and curled up in the bed, pressing back against Cole's chest. He could feel his brother's completely even breathing: where Connor had to get his heart replaced after an injury, Cole had nearly died when his lungs collapsed during a firefight. Cole's left hand pressed against his right, their fingers twisting and interlacing together.

“We're not innocent.”

“Not by any stretch of the word.”

“But we _were_ coerced.”

“The only one I would have killed without an order was Zlatko.”

Connor nodded. He was the same: Amanda's death had been his own choice. He had murdered her and would gladly do so again and again until he could no longer smell roses.

“But _they_ were monsters.” Cole unlaced their fingers, slid them over one, and interlaced them again. “We weren't the only ones they hurt.”

“And the Company has fallen to pieces, from what Dad can tell us. He said Detroit might actually be able to clean up her act.” Connor squeezed Cole's fingers between his own.

“That's a good thing. A huge good thing.”

“But murder is a huge bad thing. And we did _so much_.”

“Do you think we were already punished?”

Connor was quiet. “I used to think ‘no,’” he admitted. “But we've been in jail all this time, right? We're _in prison_ , and it's...it's nicer than being in the mansion ever was. So...maybe?”

“No one cuts us up here,” Cole said.

“The food's better.”

“We get visitors.”

“We can go outside for an hour and just sit in the sun if we want.”

“You're here.”

Connor smiled thinly. He closed his eyes and pushed back against Cole. “Maybe...maybe we have been punished...but it wasn't enough. It'll never be enough.”

“Maybe _that's_ our punishment,” Cole whispered. “Guilt.”

The trial dragged on for weeks because there was so much evidence to go through. Connor and Cole both sat on the witness stand and testified to their actions. Hours of footage of their treatment at Amanda and Zlatko's hands were submitted into the record. X-rays of their cybernetic enhancements were displayed.

The prosecution was barely trying. Connor felt like _he_ was arguing more strongly for his imprisonment than they were.

Connor also felt like he was the only one surprised by the jury's verdict. Even Cole seemed to nod knowingly as they spoke.

They were found guilty and sentenced to twelve years of imprisonment, however, eleven of them had already been served at the hands of the Company. As the Company inflicted cruel and unusual punishments upon them while in their care, their remaining year of imprisonment would be served under house arrest. They would be fitted with ankle trackers and would not be permitted to leave their house without one police officer or detective escorting them.

Their dad counted.

“We're grounded,” Connor whispered. “We _murdered_...and we're only grounded…”

“Trial's over,” his dad said. “No double jeopardy. You gonna fight the legal system?”

Connor shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He buried his face in the much-cried-upon puppy. Beside him, Cole pressed his face into Connor's shoulder, his own tears soaking through Connor's shirt.

Their dad wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them close to his chest. “It's over,” he said, his voice rumbling from his belly. “I finally get to take you two home.”

 _Home_ was a small white house with a front porch and a huge dog going crazy behind the door. Connor and Cole looked at each other, then up at their dad. He smiled, gesturing at the house. “Go on. See how big he's gotten.”

 _Race?_ asked the tilt of Cole's smile and lift of his brow.

 _Race,_ answered Connor's smirk and narrowed eyes. They touched hands, let a spark of energy between them be their starting pistol, and flew toward the door.

Cole's fingers were beneath Connor's on the hands, but they pulled the door open together. An absolutely massive dog burst through, easily as big as at least one of them. He bowled them to the ground, woofing and dancing over them, tongue licking every square inch of exposed skin he could find. “Sumo!”

“You're so big!”

“Boof!”

Connor was laughing, _laughing_ , as he scrubbed his hands through Sumo's thick fur, fingers bumping against Cole's in their enthusiasm. There was a click of a camera shutter, and the boys looked up in unison to see their dad take another picture. He was laughing too, his cheeks damp.

“Bout time I can update that picture on my desk!” He wiped his thumb across his face and jogged up to the porch, sitting beside their heads and scratching Sumo's butt. “Welcome home, boys.”


	12. Markus: Almost 18

Markus tried to be a good son for Carl, he really did. After everything his dad had done for him, the last thing Markus wanted was to heap more stress on his shoulders.

Still...Markus was nearly eighteen. Practically an adult. With adulthood came certain needs. Desires. Stupid, idiotic, moronic ideas.

Connor was alive and free. The Company was in tatters. Markus was able to walk again. There was absolutely no reason why he needed to remain in hiding with Elijah Kamski when it had been eight months since he'd last seen the other RK, other than Carl's continued worry for his health and safety. And yes, he did get the occasional debilitating migraine, but he'd also had a chunk of his brain blown out of his head. Markus considered himself lucky to _only_ have agonizing migraines.

He wasn't entirely sure if this dumb idea was a result of the brain damage or the cabin fever. Currently, it was two in the morning, and Markus was standing in the doorway to Connor Anderson's bedroom. He had failed to take ten things into consideration with his plan to sit on Connor's stomach and pin him to the bed the way Connor had always done to him.

  1. There were three occupants but only two bedrooms in this house
  2. The most likely two to be sharing a bedroom were the twins, therefore
  3. Connor was not alone in his room
  4. Connor was not alone in his bed
  5. The twins huddled together for security were the most technologically advanced assassins in the world
  6. With PTSD
  7. And incredibly light sleeping patterns
  8. And pinpoint accuracy
  9. Even in the dark
  10. And they thought he was dead



And that was why Markus froze in the doorway, realizing that both Anderson twins were awake. His new eye could see their eyes cracked open in the dark, fingers clenched around their pillows. Thankfully, they didn't seem to have any actual weapons at hand.

Well… shit.

Markus tried to raise his hands, but before he'd even completed the gesture, two pillows practically _whistled_ across the room, slamming into his face. He stumbled back with an _oof_ and heard the bed creak as the twins launched themselves across the room. “Friend!” he hissed desperately. “I'm a friend!”

There was a familiar weight on his stomach, hands clamped around his wrists, and then the lights flicked on. Markus looked up into pale blue eyes. _Cole._

“Hi,” he squeaked. “I, uh, didn't get to meet you properly before…”

“ _Markus!?_ ” By the light switch, Connor was white as a sheet, his hands clamped around his mouth.

Cole sat back, releasing his wrists and bouncing to his feet with an artificial ease. He circled around behind Connor, pale eyes narrowed. “I shot you. I didn't miss.”

“Uh, no.” Markus sat up and pushed his hoodie back, revealing his blue right eye. “You didn't. But I...um...got better?”

“You died,” Connor whispered. “You died, you're dead, your brain was on the bed!”

“My already-dead brain.”

“ _What?_ ”

Markus tapped his temple where his LED used to be. “Those implants hook into massive parts of your brain. When they're removed, they turn it into spaghetti. Eli had to cauterize a massive portion of my brain behind my right eye, and it took me years to adapt to the loss. He said if I'd been much older, I might have never regained what he had to destroy.”

In creepy unison, the twins reached for their own LEDs, spinning red to yellow.

“I'm sorry I snuck into your room and startled you,” Markus said, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “I just...really wanted to see Connor again, and I thought it would be funny to pin him down like he would do to me.”

Cole looked at Connor, who was blushing rather spectacularly. And crying. There were tears on his red cheeks. Cole's eyes narrowed, but then he looked away. “If you go out back, you can probably have the most privacy,” he said. “But we are absolutely not allowed outside the fence.” He gave his right foot a shake, catching Markus’ eyes. There was a slender steel cuff astound his ankle. Connor had a matching one. Right. House arrest.

Markus stood up, offering the pillows back. Cole accepted them both. “Connor?”

Connor stepped forward and reached out. His fingers skimmed along Markus’ cheeks and up into his hair. He rubbed lightly with his thumbs on Markus’ temples. Markus lifted his hands to cover Connor's. “Yeah, it's really me. I'm really here. Really alive. And I really missed you.”

“Go outside,” Cole said. “I don't want to watch this.”

“Sorry…” Markus offered Cole an apologetic smile. He knew this was the boy who had shot him in the head point-blank, but he also knew it wasn't anything personal. He didn't even _remember_ getting shot. He couldn't be mad at the brother that Connor had loved so deeply he had given his life for him.

Cole hesitated, curling the pillows against his chest. “No, I...I'm sorry. What I did…”

“You were trying to save Connor. I can't fault you for that.”

Cole tilted his head to the side. He looked so much like his brother, but just slightly...off. It was creepy. “I can see why he liked you so much.”

Connor glanced back at Cole. “Are you…?”

“Just stay in the fence. Don't get Dad in trouble.” Cole held Connor's gaze for a few minutes, the two silently communicating, before he went back to the bed they had been sharing.

Connor took his hands away from Markus’ face and laced their fingers together. “This way,” he said, giving his hand a tug.

Markus followed Connor out the back of the house. There was a six foot privacy fence, a fire pit, and some patio furniture. “Stay on the patio,” Connor said. “We don't really clean up after Sumo back here…”

Markus looked over at Connor. “Sumo?”

“Our St. Bernard. He was just a baby when we…” Connor looked down at his bare feet and bit his lip.

“I _knew_ you had a St. Bernard!” Markus crowed.

“Because I liked that picture best?”

“You were _petting_ it!” Markus grinned at Connor.

Connor had never looked more human, even with the LED at his temple. There was color to his skin and an awkward, nervous energy to his limbs. He was fidgeting, biting his lip, his hair mussed up from sleep. Instead of blacks and greys designed to keep him concealed, he was wearing loose blue flannel pants and an oversized DPD t-shirt.

Connor looked seventeen and beautiful. Markus squeezed his hand. “Can I kiss you?”

“Wh-what?” Connor looked up, his face red in the moonlight. “Why would you...you've never asked before…”

“Yeah, but...a lot's changed. It's been _months_. Months when you...thought I was dead.” Markus looked down at his own feet. “I'm sorry about that. I wanted to tell you, but I was...it was three months before I even woke up, and Dad didn't want Cole to know I'd survived, and your dad didn't think you'd be able to keep a secret from him, so…”

“My dad knew you were alive?” Connor asked.

“Don't get mad at him, Connor, please!” Markus turned to catch Connor's other hand, facing him and squeezing his fingers. “I know a lot of people have lied to you your whole life, but your dad was just respecting my dad's wishes. And my dad was scared. He thought I was going to die. He thought Cole might...I don't know. Finish the job.”

Connor pulled his left hand free to touch Markus’ face below his right eye. “You survived...because of what they did to you. Because you were an RK too.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is your eye blue?”

Markus smiled weakly. “Eli...Elijah Kamski. He’s working on an android using the cybernetic technology developed for the Company. He had created her eyes--her blue eyes--and when he saw I'd lost one...He said it was probably compatible and tried it out.”

“You can see with it?”

“It's _incredible_ ,” Markus breathed. “More than just see! I can scan things and see in the dark and measure distances and… it's like how amazing our legs are compared to human legs, only they didn't cut something already perfectly functional out to replace it.”

“You're more of a cyborg now than you were before.”

“Still have a long way to go before I catch up to you.”

Connor's face fell. He stepped closer to Markus, touching his forehead to Markus’ shoulder. Markus wrapped his arms around Connor's waist, holding him loosely.

“I don't have a heart,” Connor whispered.

“What?” Markus lifted one hand, pressing it over Connor's ribs where his heart should be. He could feel the steady pulse beneath his fingers. “What do you mean?”

“I got shot on a mission,” Connor said. He was crying again. Markus could feel the tears starting to soak through his thin hoodie. “I made it back to the mansion and they...to save my life, they replaced my heart with a mechanical pump. I don't have a heart.”

“Well...I'm glad they saved your life,” Markus whispered. “So I had a chance to meet you.”

“But I'm not…” Connor lifted his head to look up at Markus. “You shouldn't want to kiss me. How can I love you without-”

Markus shut Connor up by kissing him. He pushed Connor back against the wall of the house, pinning him between the vinyl siding and his body. Connor made a muffled nose of protest, but his hands found their place on Markus’ hips as he surrendered to the onslaught. He opened his mouth to let Markus in, clutching at him like he was going to lose him.

There was no Company Connor had to go running back to here, no police about to come and arrest him. Maybe Markus couldn't sit on Connor's stomach and pin him to his bed, but he could press in close, his arms against the wall on either side of Connor, tongue tangled with the other boy's, hips aligning _just_ right, and oh, _ohh_ , Connor's moan tasted like moonlight.

Connor turned his head away, breaking the kiss. “We can't,” he whispered. “Markus, we can't, _please_ …”

“I don't give a damn if your heart is biological or mechanical,” Markus whispered, kissing the curve of Connor's neck. Connor gasped, tilting his head to give Markus more room to mouth over his pulse. “You _can_ love, Connor Anderson. Your emotions aren't artificial. They're _you_.”

“She'll know…” Connor whispered. “She'll _know_ , Markus, it's wrong, I _can't_ …”

“Who?” Markus drew back from Connor's tempting skin, looking up at the other boy. “Amanda?” Connor nodded, fresh tears from his broken eyes.

“Amanda is dead,” Markus said. “You killed her, remember? She's dead, and she can never hurt you or me or Cole ever again, never, _never._ ”

“She...I...arousal isn't allowed. It's a distraction…”

“Distraction from what?” Markus asked. “How I'm kissing you?” He tugged on Connor's sleeve, pulling the oversized shirt to the side to expose Connor's shoulder. He pressed his mouth to the white skin there, determined to give Connor a hickey.

Connor groaned, his head thumping back against the wall. His hips jerked against Markus’: whatever he was saying, he was definitely into what Markus was doing.

“Do you want me to stop?” Markus asked. He drew back to look at the red mark he'd sucked into Connor's shoulder, then licked it.

Connor shook his head, his fingers clenching bruises into Markus’ hips. “No, I just, I... _Markus…!_ ”

There was something desperate and fearful about Connor's voice, an edge that didn't sit right with Markus. Even as he ground his growing erection against Connor's, he lifted his head again to peck Connor's lips. “What's wrong?”

“I...I don't know...I've never…”

Amanda, Markus knew, had been a controlling bitch of a woman. She had considered Markus’ body her own and would punish him for things even beyond his control, such as vomiting after she subjected him to extreme pain. The things Connor was stammering-- _bad, not allowed, she'll know_ \--were triggering those memories.

_I've never…_

Was Connor saying...Amanda had forbidden him from getting hard? Had she somehow managed to keep Connor from ever nutting?

“Connor?” Markus softened his assault, dusting kisses over Connor's lips and cheeks, hating how salty his skin was. “Are you...have you ever had an orgasm before?”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Amanda, she'd...she'd punish us…”

“And she knew somehow?”

Connor nodded. “There was...a chastity device…”

Markus remembered being pinned to Connor's chest with a gun under his chin and a hard lump rubbing against his ass. That hadn't been Connor being hard, that had been Amanda keeping a leash on him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Markus asked again, not trying to be teasing this time. “Is it too much?”

“No!” Connor pulled Markus in tight, grinding their dicks together. Markus groaned, and Connor flinched. “Yes...but no...Don't stop, just...just...it's okay? This is okay?”

“This is okay,” Markus murmured. He kissed the corner of Connor's mouth. “This is okay, Connor. I'm right here. I have you. I'm going to take care of you, okay?” Connor nodded meekly, and Markus smiled against his lips. “Just...just let yourself _feel_ , okay? I've got you.”

Connor nodded again. Markus dove in to catch his trembling mouth, which Connor opened immediately, drawing Markus back in to play with his tongue. Markus groaned, dragging their hips together, then pulled one hand away from the wall and placed it on Connor's chest. He could feel the pounding of Connor's heart and the way Connor was struggling to breathe. Markus rubbed a circle with his palm over Connor's chest and dropped his hand lower, sliding it over his flat belly and to the elastic waist of his flannel pants. Connor was trembling beneath him, but his moans and soft whines were desperate and pleading, his hips twitching up, angling up as Markus drew close.

Markus had never actually gone this far with anyone else before. He'd tried making out with North once, but they both agreed that wasn't worth repeating. Connor was the first boy he'd ever ground against, and definitely the first person whose pants he reached inside. He _had_ to, though. Connor felt so _good_ rubbing up against him, hot and hard and perfect, and it wasn't like a bit of elastic was any barrier.

Markus pushed his hand beneath Connor's pants and boxers, following a trail of coarse hair down to the heat between his legs. Connor actually yelped as Markus’ fingers curled around his dick, a sound Markus was quick to swallow. “Shh,” he whispered. “Let's not wake your dad!”

Connor shook his head frantically, his eyes huge. Markus sealed their mouths together again, stroking lightly up the hard flesh in his hand. The way Connor quivered beneath him filled Markus with a sense of power and he did it again. _Again._ Connor was panting heavily, rolling his dick through the circle of Markus’ fingers, his mouth too lax to maintain even a sloppy kiss. “ _Markus_ ,” he whispered. “ _Markus, please…!_ ”

Connor was crying, and Markus kissed his tears away. He kissed his lips, his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. He ducked down to kiss that throat again, the hickey on his shoulder, sorely growing darker. The entire time he kept working his hand over Connor's dick, twisting his fingers around the slick head, dragging his own erection against the heavy bulge in Connor's pants.

“Markus, it's...I can't, too much, I _can't…_!”

“Just let go.” Markus pressed a kiss to Connor's gasping mouth, feeling the other boy tensing up beneath him. “Just let it happen. I'm right here, Connor. I'll catch you. Just let go…”

The tension in Connor's body finally snapped. He jerked against the wall, a silent cry stuck in his throat, dick spasming in Markus’ hand as Markus pulled him into his first orgasm. Markus felt the hot rush of Connor's jizz on his hand and _he_ felt like crying in pride and happiness.

Connor was sagging now, his whole body going limp. Markus helped him collapse painlessly to the patio, following him down. His own dick was throbbing in his jeans from the neglect, and Markus was trying to fumble his fly own one-handed.

Blinking slowly, as if he was restarting his brain, Connor reached out to help. “Can...can I…”

Markus’ brain suddenly supplied several images of Connor straddling his hips, pinning him to the bed, and he moaned his approval. “God, yes, whatever you want!”

Connor pushed Markus’ fly open and slid a hand into the opening in the front of his boxers. Markus groaned as cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, grabbing into Connor's shoulders to keep his balance.

Connor wasn't stopping there. He drew Markus’ dick out through the folds of cloth and shuffled forward. “Connor…?”

Before Markus could finish his question, Connor answered it. He ducked his head down and licked almost catlike across the weeping tip of Markus’ cock, then opened his mouth and practically swallowed Markus entirely.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Markus clutched at Connor's hair and back, bent in half over the other boy as he swallowed around a throatful of Markus’ dick. Forget any kind of stamina; Markus lost it immediately, coming hard as Connor's hot throat squeezed his head.

Connor drew back slowly, coughing slightly. He let Markus fall from his lips and licked them. “Is...was that…”

“How the fuck did you do that?” Markus whispered. He touched Connor's lips with a shaky hand. “Don’t you have a gag reflex!?”

Connor shook his head. “Not after they replaced my tongue. I just...I really wanted...to taste you? I'm sorry if it wasn't…”

Markus caught Connor's face in his hands and kissed him firmly. He couldn't even taste himself on Connor's lips, so thoroughly had the other swallowed him. “That was _incredible_ ,” he whispered. “God, Connor, you can taste me whenever you want!”

Connor blushed, but he smiled at Markus, and Markus realized it was the first time he'd ever seen Connor really smile, soft and genuine and happy. He looked like he was seventeen and in love, and Markus needed to kiss him again.

There was a throat clearing above them. Connor went tense. Markus felt his face explode in a blush. He looked up at Lieutenant Anderson, who was wearing the same expression Carl always would when he was trying not to laugh because he needed to punish Markus or Leo.

“Both of you, inside.” He jerked his thumb toward the house.

Markus glanced down at where he was still hanging out of his open pants, Connor's jizz drying on his fingers. “Uh…”

The lieutenant rubbed his hand over his mouth, ducked inside, and came back to throw a dish cloth at them. “Clean up yourselves up, get inside.”

Markus scrubbed at his fingers before offering Connor the towel. Connor was bright red himself too as he tried to clean up the mess in his pants while Markus tucked himself away. “How much trouble are we in?” Markus whispered to Connor.

“I didn't leave the yard,” Connor whispered back, “so probably not the worst levels? But I've never…”

He folded up the towel, getting to his feet. Markus stood as well, then reached over and took Connor's hand. “If we're in trouble, we'll be in trouble together.”

“I don't think that's how it works,” Connor whispered back, but he squeezed Markus’ hand as they went inside.

Cole was sitting on the couch, hugging Sumo. The lieutenant gestured for Connor and Markus to join him. He was sitting in a chair to the side.

“All right. It's a godawful hour that should not exist, so we're gonna make this quick.” The lieutenant fixed each teen one-by-one with his interrogation face. “ _All three of you_ have survived some massive shit that should not have been survivable. In the process, you've given your dads massive heart attacks and probably shaved about fifty years off our lives. _So._ ” He pointed at Markus. “A note saying ‘don't worry, Dad, I know what I'm doing, be back soon,’ _is not good enough_ when you're skipping out of a safe house to visit your assassin boyfriend.” He pointed at Cole. “‘I don't know, he's probably fine,’ _is not good enough_ when you're asked where your brother is at 3 AM when you haven't let him out of your sight in eight months. And _you_ ,” he pointed at Connor, “...didn't really do anything wrong but still you shouldn't be getting off with your boyfriend on the back patio at three in the morning!”

“I thought he was dead,” Connor whispered. “You _knew_ he wasn't…!”

The lieutenant flinched and heaved a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. “Yes. Yes I did, but I couldn't tell you. It wasn't my secret to share. I'm sorry I had to conceal information from you.”

Connor looked over at Markus and then nodded. “It's...It's okay now. I know now.” He smiled, and Markus smiled back, squeezing his hand.

“Are we in trouble?” Cole asked.

The lieutenant sighed again. “Markus, you're gonna call your dad and let him know you're alright. You'll stay here the rest of the night, and he'll come get you in the morning. Connor, Cole...Don't lie to me like that again. If you're gonna cover for each other doing something stupid or...or smutty, just say it. Just say yeah, you know where he is but you're not telling me because it's none of my business. That'll only give me a headache, not a heart attack. I walked into a room with your empty beds once. Don't make me do it again.”

“Sorry Dad,” the twins whispered, ducking their heads in crept unison.

The lieutenant got up, tugging them into a hug. “You're still good boys. Now go back to bed. Markus will be staying in your room tonight. _No funny business._ ”

The twins hugged the lieutenant and bid him good night. Markus pulled out his cell phone, feeling guilty at the four missed calls and sixteen texts from Carl. “I'll...be right in.”

The Andersons left him in the living room for some privacy as he called Carl. The old man answered immediately. “Markus?”

“Hi Dad…”

“Oh, thank God you're okay!”

“I told you I knew what I was doing!”

“A note on your empty bed is not reassuring!”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I had to see him, Dad.”

“So you are with Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Yeah, he's giving me the spare bed for the rest of the night…”

“And how's Connor?”

Markus bit his lip, looking at the closed door to the twins’ room. “I love him, Dad. And his brother's not bad either.”

“His brother _shot_ you.”

“And he apologized!”

Carl sighed. “Just...be careful, Markus. I love you. We'll talk more tomorrow.”

“Okay, Dad. I love you too. I really am sorry I worried you.”

“Good night, Markus.”

“Good night, Dad.”

Markus hung up and crept over to the twins’ room. He knocked on the door before pulling it open.

Cole and Connor were sitting on the bed they'd been sleeping in before. They both looked over at Markus when he entered. Cole's eyes were narrowed. Connor looked frustrated.

“Um...is everything okay?”

“I don't know where to sleep,” Connor said.

“ _Here._ ” Cole folded his arms.

Connor hesitated, looking to Markus, and Markus understood.

From how the twins had been huddled together against the wall when he came in, they still didn't feel safe. Markus remembered the fear of those early nights all too well, lying awake and staring at the door, just waiting for Amanda or Zlatko to burst in and tear him away from Carl. The twins clearly were just as scared of losing each other while they slept. With Markus in the room, though, Connor wanted to stay near _him_ , but that would leave Cole alone.

There was an easy solution.

“I know your dad said I should get the spare bed, but...is there room for all of us in one?”

Cole's eyes widened, the harsh look on his face melting into surprise, and he glanced at the mattress. Connor nodded, pushing him back.”Yes! Probably? Come try?”

Cole laid down first, and Connor fitted easily against his chest. Markus eased himself in against Connor's chest with a good ten inches to spare. He smiled. Connor smiled back. “Well...good night?”

“Good night!” Connor's arms wrapped around Markus.

“Good night,” Cole echoed.

After Connor's breathing evened out in sleep again, a third hand reached over, settling on top of Connor's. Markus wasn't quite asleep himself. He heard Cole's soft whisper.

“ _Thank you._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> The New ERA discord server is a pan-shipdom Detroit: Become Human fanworks server. We focus heavily on the best fanfiction we can find on AO3, but there's a whole host of amazing fanartists there too. Come join us if you've ever found any story on AO3 that moved you: we'd love to hear about it!
> 
> https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm


End file.
